THE RUNES
OF DESTINY

Spring Storms

In the spring of the year, the winds and rain came and the
river reached floodtide twice in a week, forcing the settle-
ment to move to higher ground until the water receded. The
winds had ruined much of the thatch on all the roofs, and
many of the dwellings were left open to the endless march of
blustery rain squalls that seemed to come in ceaseless storms
from beyond the twin peaks of the Bitter Roots.

Stretched along the hills above the water-soaked settle-
ment, the tents of the villagers were pitched, along with a
larger canvas-and-wood shelter which housed the meeting
hall, and which was the gathering place for alt the various
holidays and dances, or just the usual nightly exchange of
news and gossip.

It had been a long winter, and there weren't many visitors
up or down river, even when it was clear of ice; they had
heard nothing of any other settlement, either along the
Roaring Sea or further away toward the mountains, which
was unusual, but nothing to unduly alarm them. Their
settlement was a large one, and well protected from the
normal run of winter, except for the current one, which
showed them they would have to move their dwellings fur-
ther back from the water's edge in the future. It was the first
time in all the years they had lived there that the floods had
been so severe or the winter so long.

There were those who sat by the fire in the great hall at
night over their tea or ale, and told frightening stories about
the old days, although there were but few who were old
enough to remember much. Mostly the townsmen were of a
younger generation, the descendents of those whom the

Spring Storms                        3

stories were told of, the Old Ones who had become the
legends and myths of their long distant kin.

On this particular evening, there were two ancient men
who sat at table, sipping at their mulled ale, and listening
with obvious relish as the storm outside pelted the canvas
roof with large raindrops, and the wind blew sparks about in
the open-faced stoves.

Both of the men were dressed in the same fashion, long
gray capes that covered them from head to foot, and tall
riding boots that were old and worn, but well made, and
showing the signs of much hard use. At the side of both
hung swords of an antique design, undecorated in any but
the most simple fashion, and sheathed in a blue scabbard
with only a single marking, a small round rune that ran
around the top of the sheath, next to the hilt of the sword.
Their knapsacks were leather, and beside each was a quiver
and bow, which was taller than a man, and would seem
impossible to draw.

These strange old travelers sat staring at the fire, oblivi-
ous to the whispered chatter and speculations of the locals.

One of the men looked up to order food. and was met by
the earnest gaze of a young man who was slightly built, with
a shock of light brown hair that trailed carelessly across his
forehead.

"Oh-ho, what have we here, Gillerman? Look! A tad who
thinks he's seen a ghost!"

The second traveler stirred his thoughts from the blazing
fire behind the stove grate long enough to study the object in
question-

"So it is," he agreed. "I think, Wallach, that we have here
the genuine article in the flesh."

"Genuine what, sir?" asked the lad, drawing back.

"A genuine, dyed-in-the-wool curious torn, who is waiting
to ask old Tom Gillerman and Simson Wallach who they are
and where they're bound."   ^

"Oh, nor sir, not at all. I was trying to see what it says on
the scabbard hilt you're wearing. I've never seen blades
fashioned quite like that before."

"He's never seen blades like these, Wallach," repeated

4                 THE RUNES OF DESTINY

Gillerman. "The lad says he's not seen steel like this before
now."

"Isn't likely to have ever run across anything at all in the
nature of these blades," agreed his friend.

"What do you think they're made of?" asked the first.

"Why, steel, sir," replied the youth. "What all swords are
made of. But I was looking at the sign on your holster. What
hand is it?"

The old travelers looked at each other in silence for a
time, making nodding motions with their heads, and casting
their eyes about as though trying to detect if they would be
overheard when they made their answer.

"The runes are not those of any human hand," whispered
Gillerman, in a voice so low the boy had to creep nearer to
hear the words.

"And no eyes ever saw fairer work, nor sturdier steel,"
added Wallach. "When these blades were forged, the world
was younger then, and a terrible danger stalked every single
living thing that drew breath."

"You mean the time the raiders came to Sweet Rock?"
asked the lad eagerly.

"A lifetime before anything you would know or hear of,"
corrected Wallach. "This was in a time when your river was
but a stream, and the forests here were but saplings."

There were others in the crude shelter that had slowly
gravitated to the pair of timeworn travelers, and they all
now drew up their chairs to hear the conversation, and ask
questions of their own.

"Here, here, friends! What stories are you giving our
young Owen here? You'll have him dreaming of distant
towns and seas, and he'll run off to a life on the ocean and
break his poor mother's heart."

"That's it, Juliun, that's it. The poor tad will be took with
all this hooly-hoop, and the next thing you know, he'll be out
living under the stars without a roof to ever call his again."

"His mother won't thank you for stirring up his imagina-
tion. She's already had no end of trouble alt along, trying to
keep him at home, and attending to his studies."

Gillerman turned t6 his friend, speaking so the others

Spring Storms                        5

couldn't hear. "What's this? No secrets here, friends,"
cried another man, sitting beside the youth.

"I'm trying to find out what my friend wants for his
supper, citizen. I think you'll find that no secret."

"What is more of a secret to me is how you two old goats
managed to get through to Sweet Rock here in all this
storm. We haven't had news or traffic with anyone this
whole winter, and now here you two sit, as pretty as you
please. That's the secret I'd like to know about."

The speaker was a surly man in his early sixties, with
close cropped hair and a bristly beard.

"Pay no attention to Bristlebeard," apologized the boy.
"He's always suspicious of anything or anyone."

"With good reason, lad, always with good reason. I'd like
to hear the tale these two old gaffers have to spin."

There was a rumble of consent from the gathered crowd,
which had swelled in ranks as the afternoon grew on into
dusk.

"You can come home with me," said the lad, looking
around at the peering curious faces that surrounded the two
old men, now looking frail and outnumbered in the nicker-
ing light of the rushlamps and lanterns.

"You can see to our horses, my'young friend. Make sure
they've got themselves a dry spot out of this weather."

Gillerman reached into the folds of his cloak and with-
drew a small leather pouch, .and took out a coin to give to
the boy.

"I'll look to your mounts, sir, but I don't need pay. I
wouldn't leave any animal left untended in a storm like this.
I'm sure my mother and father would be happy for the
visit."

Wallach motioned for the young man to go ahead with his
chore of minding the horses, turning back as he did to face
the increasing unease of the crowd in the shelter.

"I have a small word for you, friend, anA that's tact. You
seem to lack a great deal of it. Especially toward strangers
who come seeking a shelter and food, who've been long on
the road and are weary. Perhaps when we're fed and rested,
we'll tell you of what has befallen us, and where we're

6                THE RUNES OF DESTINY

bound, perhaps not. This is the first time in many a day that
we've been among company, and I'm not so sure that I don't
prefer solitude."

Gillerman nodded agreement, even as a ragged note of
disapproval made the rounds of the group gathered about
the fire.

"You've got no right to a high-handed attitude wit^ us,
stranger. We're a peaceful settlement here at Sweet Rock,
and we give no one any cause to complain of our treatment
to travelers."

"Well said, Hiat. We've given these two no reason to
insult our hospitality, or to bring a black mark against our
good manners."

The man with the bristly beard stood up and approached
the small table where the two old friends sat. Spreading his
legs apart in a battle stance, he picked up the tankards of
the mulled ale there and called loudly for them to be taken
away.

"We don't need your likes in Sweet Rock," snarled the
man. "We have a well-ordered, peaceful settlement here,
and we don't have any use for armed tramps with salty
tongues."

A hush fell over the makeshift room, as all there waited to
see what the ancient strangers would do.

Gillerman broke the tension first by announcing that they
had to get on anyhow, that there was a fire awaiting them,
and old friends who were eager for their news.

The bearded man laughed, revealing an ugly smile.

"What friends have you here, vagabond? All here are
decent folk, who wouldn't have cause for your
acquaintance."

"There are some of the old clans still sprinkled through-
out these lands," said Wallach, his voice guarded.

"Old clans? What of the old clans? What would you two
tramps know of the clans?"

"A tale that might cause your tongue to sing a sweeter
tune," returned Gitlerman.

There was a commotion at the door and all heads turned

Spring Storms                        7

to see who was making such a noisy entrance, and what
news was brought that created such a furor outdoors.

The center of the storm was a balding man, with a large
droopy mustache that still carried some part of his last meal
in it.

"The Westerlin folk are on the road here! The river has
carried away the settlement!"

"Quickly, then, me hearties! Get the others gathered,
good Nehman. We shall have need of all the spare shelters
we have, and all the foodstuffs as well. How many are there
left, messenger?"

The man addressed wrung his hands and shook his head.
"Not above two dozen, sir."

This news startled all present.

"Two dozen? Out of all the Westerlin?" questioned a man
near the bald messenger.

"Those that weren't lost in the flood were taken by the
raiders. The filth came out of the darkness on the night of
the water. No alarm, no warning, just there!"

This last piece of news chilled the gathered locals, causing
a loud moan that might have come from one man.

There was another call for ale all around, and in the
disturbance, the two strangers, 'Wallach and Gillerman,
were forgotten for the moment, and the two friends sat back
down at their table to see what was to occur next.

The youngster burst back in and ran to the strangers,
breathless. "I tried to take your horses to shelter, but they
wouldn't go,'* he gasped. "And one of them told me that I
should come back and tell you that there are dangers afoot!"
The lad's eyes were wide and unbelieving.

"What's taken the boy? What does he speak of? A
talking horse?"

"That's it," cried another. "Poor chap didn't ever have
too many wits about him anyhow, always hanging about in
the woods with his mother. I wouldn't put it past the likes of
her to be filling the lad's ears with such tales as walking
trees and talking horses."

A sudden light went on in the strangers' eyes, and they
looked quickly at each other.

8              THE RUNES OF DESTINY

"Who do them talking horses belong to now, I wonder?"
asked Bristlebeard. "Aren't they just fit for each other, I ask
you? Tramps and horses that give you news about your
enemies!"

"Maybe they're in league with the raiders," roared an
angry voice. "How come them to be here so easy like, when
we haven't had any travelers through our parts in ay this
long winter or spring?"

A low rumble of agreement shook the room.

"Maybe they're waiting to give the signal to the others
they're with, so they can fall on Sweet Rock like they did
Westerlin," went on another voice, standing next to the
messenger from the doomed community.

"Maybe they are," put in Bristtebeard. "We haven't for-
gotten how to handle sneaking vermin like that, have we.
lads?"

A booming "No" filled the room, and more than one of
the crowd edged forward to lay hold of the travelworn
strangers.

"Hold your tongue," ordered Gillerman. "Stand off, you
fools! Have you been locked away in this backwater settle-
ment so long you've taken leave of your good senses?"

"I don't think they can tell their left from their right, or
up from down," agreed Wallach. "Much less a friend from
an enemy."

"Your smooth talk holds no sway here. We'll be the ones
to decide who our enemies and friends are."

Two brawny locals moved forward again, and one of the
men grabbed Gillerman roughly by the shoulder to drag him
away.

"Come along you! We'll throw you into a cooler until we
decide what's to be done."

"Call a general court! Let the settlement hear the evi-
dence. And get all the men to arms," ordered Bristlebeard,
taking over easily.

"Wait!" cried the boy. "These men are friends! They
haven't come to harm us! My father should decide this, not
you!"

"Out of the way, whelp," snarled Bristlebeard, knocking

Spring Storms                        9

the boy roughly aside. "Come on. chaps' Let's put these two
pigs in a poke!"

Before the two old friends could make a struggle of it,
they were hastily bound hand and foot and hauled away to
be locked in a root cellar at the back of the shelter.

"Let's see if they have any more friends skulking about,"
suggested a man at the front of the mob. "The lad said the
horses were talking, but we know better. There must be
others here about! Come on, lads, to arms!"

It took another few minutes of hunting and catling out
loudly among themselves to conclude that there were no
others to be found outside, or anywhere in the vicinity.

The young boy, Owen, who had spoken in their defense,
was upset that the remarkable talking horses were gone, and
wondered where they could be, or who could have taken
them.

Bristlebeard and a dozen others took torches and scoured
the entire woods surrounding the crude shelter converted
into their gathering hall, but there was not so much as a
hoofprint or bent twig to signify that anyone had ever been
there at all.

"A ill-omen, this," predicted an aging local, counting his
prayer beads as he spoke. "This is like them times my pappy
told me of when we was all up at arms with them vile things
from underneath the borders."

"It smacks of it, indeed. Clem. I don't want to even think
of what it means."

"What it means is that we've got to get ourselves armed,"
snapped Bristlebeard. "Hop to it! Ring the alarm bell there,
whelp! Make yourself useful for once! Your father shall hear
of your behavior here tonight!"

The boy, seeing that he would be beaten if he did not do
as he was told, slowly went down the hill to where the
settlement's great bell was, and with a heavy and troubled
heart, began to strike the notes that would call the settle-
ment of Sweet Rock to arms.

Mystic Steeds

A hard southerly wind whipped the trees into a brisk dance,
and sent gray-black clouds scudding across the night sky.
Patches of stars showed here and there, but the shadows on
the wood crept back and forth as the wind tossed the limbs
of the trees, and it was hard to keep to the beaten track that
lay like a lighter-colored trace through the skittering night.

There were strange noises above the wind that startled
the boy as he made his way homeward, and he jumped at
every other step, clutching his thorn cudgel and imagining
all sorts of terrible figures lurking in the eaves of the forest,
waiting to ambush him.

He thought of the two ancient strangers, and wished that
they were there with him. No one believed that their horses
had talked, but he had heard them as plainly as any of the
men speaking in the meeting hall. He smiled to remember
how polite they had been to each other, and how they had
used their proper names in speaking.

"I never would have thought it," he said half aloud, trying
to cheer himself up, and take his mind off the looming forms
and shadows that were darting to and fro all about him. He
was on the verge of being encouraged somewhat, when
another noise somewhere in front of him made him stop
dead in his tracks, and steal as silently as he could off the
path.

There were more sounds then, plain above the howl of the
wind and creak of trees—horses, moving through the wood,

10

Mystic Steeds                        11

and the clink and rattle of steel against steel, and harness
straps squeaking under load.

The lad drew further back into the protective cover of the
wood. and holding his breath, tried to make out the nature
of these late-night travelers who moved about under the
dark blanket of night. He felt a great need to hide himself
from the new intruders, whoever they were; his flesh crawled
and he broke out in a cold sweat, and his heart hammered so
loudly he was sure anyone nearby could hear it.

Hoofbeats sounded almost at his elbow, and the dark
form of a mounted rider crashed by so close to him he could
have reached out and touched the saddle. The rider was
shrouded in a cloak that covered his head and trailed all the
way down over the knees and lay over the rump of the horse;

without warning, the rider suddenly reined in and sat still a
moment, as if he were listening intently to some suspicious
sound.

At first, the boy thought hopefully it might be the two
ancient men at the meeting hall and their talking horses, but
when the animal in front of him turned so that he could see
him clearly, Owen saw only the baleful glance of dumb
brute eyes.

He was terrified for a brief second that the beast was
going to give him away. His heart thudded explosively
beneath his shirt, and a bead of sweat found its way down
his eyebrow onto the bridge of his nose; still the horse and
ridder stood immobile.

After another heartbeat, they were joined by another
rider, and the two of them crashed away, and were soon lost
among the other sounds of the windy forest, which moaned
and sighed like a live thing.

The boy lay still for a long time after the sounds of the
ominous intruders were gone, and there was nothing left to
hear but the footfall of the wind in the high boughs of the
trees. Each black shadow became a dangerous enemy, and
each unknown sound became the signal that he was discov-
ered and lost.

After a long while, he at last dared to creep out of his
biding place, and begin again his interrupted journey.

12 THE RUNES OF DESTINY

As he moved forward once more. he suddenly thought of
his mother and father, and that they must be warned about
this band of raiders that were full upon them. He quickly
forgot his fear then, and the pounding of his heart ham-
mered through his pulse as he raced away toward the simple
dwelling that had been his home for all those past seasons,
warm and cheerful, and always full of the family friends
and neighbors.

"I can't let them down," he said aloud, through gritted
teeth, but the wind swept his words away.

He had not gone more than another few paces ahead,
when he drew up short and stood staring in amazement at
the sight before him. He rubbed his eyes and blinked, but
the apparitions were still there, and he could not take his
gaze away.

"Come, lad! Don't be fuddled by all this business. It was
the quickest way we could get to you."

The animal before him was the horse that belonged to the
man called Wallach, and beside him was the mount of
Gillerman.

"This is all a bit of a shock to you, I'm sure," said the
latter. "It was something of a surprise to us as well, I can
assure you- But there was no one left across the Boundary
that would come back to take care of this last bit of business
except us. We owned we'd do it, because we have a few
friends about in these parts we wanted to look in on."

"We never expected all this to-do, though," interrupted
the other. "It was supposed to be a simple messenger's job,
back, hop-quick. I never would have been tempted if I'd
known all this blatherskite was still making such a muddle
of things.'*

The boy tried to find his voice, although without success.

"Here, you've frightened him out of his wits," said the
first horse, seeing the plight of the young lad.

"The woods are full of those raiders you were trying to
warn the others about," Owen managed at least. "And no
one would believe that you talked."

"We most certainly do," agreed the dark chestnut-colored

Mystic Steeds                        15

animal. "I think it would be a good deal more unusual if we
didn't."

"What do they call you, lad? What name do you go by?"

"Owen Helwin, sir," replied the boy, looking from one
animal to the other.

"By Windameir's spur straps, the very thing! Here we
thought we were to be in for a fuss of it, and the next thing
you know, here is the tad that Watlach and Gillerman were
looking for right before our eyes."

"A pretty jest." His friend laughed. "I was ready to have
to carry those slugs to scour one end of this strip of the
Boundary to the other."

"Excuse me," said Owen softly. "But what are you speak-
ing of? I haven't been able to make heads or tails of
anything since I met your two gentlemen at the gathering
hall."

"Gentlemen! Hear that, Gitel, he calls those two louts of
ours gentlemen!"

Gitel snickered a long whuffling sound through his
muzzle.

"Brave Gillerman has never been addressed as such, to
my knowledge. I dare say Wallach would shift in his traces
if he were ever called as much to his face."

"Oh, no offense," hastened Owen. "I didn't mean to
offend you."

"You haven't, lad. We carry on this way so much we
forget that a stranger might not understand our jesting. We
have to have help to get those two louts out of that ratnest
they've been locked into. Can your parents help us?"

"That's just where I was on my way to," replied Owen. "I
know they would help us."

"Good, good lad. Climb up and tell me the way."

"But we'll run into those others who were just by here."

"We'll be to where we're going without anyone knowing
any the better."

Owen struggled up into the tall stirrup, and told the huge
animal the directions to his shelter. He was amazed at the
ease with which the horse moved, and soon he was unable to
separate the wind from their motion, and in another blink of

14 THE RUNES OF DESTINY

the eye, they were standing in the front garden of Owen's
small, tidy dwelling.

"I'll tell them we're here," he cried, leaping down and
racing to the door. "Mother! Father! Come quick and see
my friends!"

The house was dark and Owen's first thought was that his
mother and father had gone to bed already, but then he
remembered the raiders in the woods, and dashed through
the door, holding his breath. He lit a candle and raced
through the small shelter with it held aloft, but there were
no signs of struggle or violence, or any other clue as to what
might have become of the occupants.

"They're gone!" cried Owen, coming back to the horses.

"They may have made their way to the gathering hall,"
concluded the horse called Gitel. "Wallach and Gillerman
must have called them."

"But how could they do that?" asked Owen, confused and
very near tears.

"There are a lot of our ways that you may find strange,
Owen. Has no one ever spoken to you of your grand heri-
tage, or the exploits of your mother and father?"

"Or the great battles that were waged in the olden days,
when we were but colts?" Seravan went on, his dark gray
coat shiny in the shadowy darkness.

"You speak of the bleak years," answered Owen. "That
was a time long before the Middle Islands, or the meeting of
the Four Elders of Atlanton."

"See!" said Seravan- 'The lad does have some idea of his
history. But it was before that, Owen, Your parents were in
the last of the fracas. They are held in great regard in the
place we have come from."

"And where is that, sir?" asked Owen. "I know of almost
all the lands about here, but I have never heard of one which
had horses who spoke."

"You will find out more about that presently, my boy.
Come up, and let's find your father and mother. And we
have to get those two lumps free before they do something
foolish. It wouldn't be wise to reveal our hand just yet. We

Mystic Steeds                         15

have urgent news of an old friend of theirs they must have
before the night is out."

Owen was beginning to protest, but he was taken up by an
unseen hand and held in a viselike grip in the saddle of
Gitel.

"Come along, lad. Quickly! We don't want these other
chaps to beat us to the settlement. They're a nasty lot. I've
thought all along they'd prove to be troublesome one of
these days."

"Always the optimist, Seravan," scolded Gitel. "Any-
thing that has a dark side, leave it for you to find it."

"I know human nature, that's all," returned his friend
shortly. "I've been at all this business long enough to know
bad seeds when I see them."

"That's neither here nor there. To work now! We must go
down to the edge of the river, and then across the bridge
that leads by the old mill road."

"Lead on, then. Keep a sharp eye for those chaps, Owen."

"We shouldn't let them off so easy. We might leave a little
surprise for them."

"Not now. Perhaps when we've seen to our business and
gotten Wallach and Gillerman back, and found the lad's
parents."

Seravan struck out in the lead then, and held his course at
a steady pace through the windy forest, making ever toward
the flooded banks of the Line River, and the settlement hall
at Sweet Rock.

They had gone on but a few mites when another sound
began to make itself heard over the howling of the wind and
the broken chatter of the trees; it was a distinct sound, and
one that spread a sense of dread in all their hearts.

"Fire," breathed Seravan under his breath, although he
need not have spoken.

Owen was down and running toward the sound before
either of the animals could move to stop him. "We have to
hurry! They've fired the settlement hall, and your friends
are in the cellar."

"Get down!" shouted a vaguely familiar voice, just as a
volley of arrows sang past his head. There were loud shouts

16 THE RUNES OF DESTINY

and cursing then, and three mounted horsemen cut off the
boy, preparing to ride him down.

Owen leaped aside at the last instant, and felt the hot stab
of pain on his cheek as the blade of a sword flashed past him,
an inch away from splitting his skull in two. He rolled away,
falling into the prickly thorns of the underbrush at the edge
of the road.

There were more cries then, and another shower of arrows
that landed harmlessly all about him; his head reeled, and
he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists in a helpless rage
as he watched the flames eating at the roof of the meeting
hall. Shadows of riders circled in the fiery outskirts of the
fire, cursing and shouting to each other in a language that
was faintly familiar, although he could not quite make out
all the words. His brain raced as he watched, and it was
another heartbeat before he made out that the raiders were
looking for survivors, and were combing the surrounding
woods to find them. There were no faces he knew, no sign of
Bristlebeard or the mob that had been present earlier, and
Owen felt all hope go out of him.

A voice right at his ear almost caused him to faint, but it
was the old man, Gillerman, tugging at his sleeve. "Quickly,
lad! We have to get you away from here. The others have all
escaped into the woods for now, but these louts outnumber
us, and we have to reach safe quarters."

"We thought you must be roasted by now," cried Owen.
"Where is your friend?"

"Wallach wasn't born to be fried in a root cellar. He's
safely away now. Hurry! We must fly!"

As he spoke, he whistled a short tune, and immediately at
his side was the horse, Gitel.

"We must fly these parts, my friend. Wallach and Seravan
are away already."

The huge animal neighed and stood still while the old
man and boy mounted, his nostrils flaring and his ears laid
back. "They are coming," he warned his rider. "There are
three of them heading this way."

"Hang on, tad," shouted Gillerman, and in an instant, his
gleaming blade had sprung from the simple scabbard, strik-


Mystic Steeds

17

ing sparks into the night. The edge of the weapon glowed a
faint silver that wavered and shimmered, slowly turning a
blazing white that almost blinded Owen to see it.

Out of the stinging smoke and flames, there were sud-
denly the looming forms of mounted riders, bearing straight
down upon them. One of the shadowy figures put a horn to
his lips and blew a harsh note, and they came on, swords
drawn. Owen clung tightly to Gillerman's back, and his
mind clouded with fear. He was sure he would never see his
mother or father again, or even the light of day,

The old man smelted of forests and rivers, and something
else that Owen could not quite decide on, but before he
could think of it further, the horse's back bunched, and the
animal seemed to spring into the air. He felt the bone-
jarring clash of steel, and heard the deadly thin ring of
swords clanging and then the groan of a man. In two more
swift blows, they were away, lifting into a rush of wind and
stars that flashed past so suddenly the boy thought he must
have fainted or been wounded. There were whirlpools of
moons that spun in circles of flame about his head, and there
were voices calling to him in faraway sounds; there was his
mother next, and a faded sunset that looked like all the
sunsets he had seen in his short life, yet upon looking again,
the morning was blazing up from beneath the curve of the
sea, and faint blue stars still lit a part of heaven just above
him, held in place by a wind that smelled of pine and ash
and oak.

"Good morning, my young friend," said a voice, coming
from a long way away. "You've certainly had a nap."

"Is he all right?" asked another voice, worried and close
in his ear. There was a warm touch on his cheek then, and
he knew it was his mother's voice.

"Hush, Linne. Your son is too much for a mere scratch to
keep down for more than the time it takes him to blink. That
lot back there in Sweet Rock wasn't warned about us,
thanks to our lucky stars, and the sensible decision to lock us
y  in the root cellar. It would have gone a lot harder on us if
^ they had known we would be there."
|    "Is Famhart safe?"

18 THE RUNES OF DESTINY

"On his way to gather the rest of the settlement. We'll be
joining him soon."

"Where are Wallach and Seravan?" asked Owen sleepily.
"Was I hurt?"

"You helped me fend off that raider, or don't you remem-
ber?" Gillerman chuckled. "He made a play at pulling me
out of the saddle, but you grabbed him by the arm ,and
wouldn't let go. Good thing, too, or I'd have been in a dash
of trouble. Gitel got us away clean, though, and here we are,
safe and sound."

"I thought we had seen the end of all this.'* Owen's
mother suddenly sounded very tired. "Was it just a dream
we had when we were in the Middle Islands?"

"No, my dear, it was no mere dream. And you have had a
time to rest and gather your strength. It was said then that
the fight would go on."

"1 thought Owen would be spared. He's still a lad yet."

"I know how you must feel, Linne. It is never a promising
thought to discover that we all have our own ends to meet,
and our own lives to lead, no matter what else comes of it."

"You don't know anything about a mother's heart! You're
like all the rest. It's all stilt excitement to you, and a chance
to play your silly childish games!"

Gillerman laughed softly. "You hear that, Wallach?" he
asked his friend, who had just that moment entered the
room.

"I don't mind telling you that it was no idea of mine to
recross the Boundary and come back down to all this, my
dear. 1 was pleasantly occupied with a small portion of a
meadow without a single stump to remove, and fresh water,
and a cow or two to graze. There wasn't even anything in the
way of a wasp or a fly to pester me."

"You speak riddles, good sir. I don't follow your
meaning."

"No need to confuse anyone any further, Wallach. We
may as well spell out our errand here, and the less muddy we
make the water, the better off we'll be."

Linne moved to gather Owen in her arms. "Have you
come with these two?"

Mystic Steeds

19

"I met them at the gathering hall. Bristlebeard and the
others thought they were raiders and locked them in the root
cellar, but they escaped. Gillerman saved me. And their
horses talk as plainly as we do."

The words tumbled out of his mouth, and he drew breath
to go on.

"Pull up, lad. Your mother will never get the drift if you
keep on in that gallop," said Gillerman. "What we need
here is a direct order of march, from the beginning to the
end, first, middle, and finish."

"Exactly," agreed Wallach. "That's what I've said all
along, but no one ever thinks to listen to an old boot like
me."

"Will you gentlemen tell me what you know of my hus-
band? And who the raiders were who attacked us at the
settlement?"

Linne held Owen closed to her, and tried to remember her
old courage, wondering if it had gone in all the peaceful
times, or if she had mislaid it somewhere in her day-to-day
chores she had been busy with all these last years of her life.

It had come as a shock when the arrows snapped by her
head as she fled across the road toward the woods, and then
the memories had all come flooding back to her, all too
quickly, it seemed.

"Famhart is safe enough for the moment," soothed Wal-
lach. "We shall say what we have to say quickly, then
trouble you no more for now. There are others we have to
find before this plague of ills is spread too much farther. A
vast cauldron of trouble is brewing in the Channels and
beyond, and we must gather the ones together who will
strike the blow to stop it."

"What my friend means is this," Gillerman went on, "We
have come to deliver these charts and this weapon, and to
warn you of an impending danger that has begun to grow
among even those of you who yet dwell here."

"That has become obvious," replied Linne.

"There is worse yet than just this riffraff who've raided
Sweet Rock."

20 THE RUNES OF DESTINY

"The Darkness?" asked Linne, thoughts of an older time
returning in powerful waves.

"Not the Black Death, my dear. Not yet. This danger
comes in the form of one who dwells under the shadows of
the South Channels. He is known to you, Linne, and I fear
that his memory may not be the most pleasant."

"A traitor?" breathed Owen.

"No, lad, a misguided soul who has forgotten the simple
fact that there is only one King of Windameir."

"Then how can he still be thought of as not a part of the
plot and scheme of the Darkness?"

"The hand of the Dark One is heavy on him, but his own
folly is his worst crime yet! It is easy to be snared by the
web of greed and power the Dark One spins."

"But what can we do about such a man as that?" asked
Linne. "That would be better left to healers or teachers."
Her heart contracted in a strange way, and there was a faint
echo of an old sadness welling up there-

"Exactly. But you must be the messenger who carries this
word- You are the one he will seek out, and the one who
might yet reach him. Your life is known to him, for your
lines go back to the road to the Middle Islands. You and
Famhart are both familiar with him. There is another from
your old days, but we shall see to him ourselves."

"Then who are these raiders who have struck Sweet Rock
tonight? Are they from this man you speak of?"

"These are more than bandits, my dear. They are not
anything near the danger they will be if they join forces with
this man. He is very dangerous. These louts are but small
fry in the picture of this riddle, but they are to be reckoned
as dangerous, too."

"It's as easy to be skewered by a small fry as a large one,"
observed Gillerman. "Although I think this lot is led by a
very ambitious chap who is proving to be more of a sticker in
our path than we have dared consider."

"He has certainly done a good job of creating this tittle
inconvenience," said Wallach. "I had thought we would
have been able to have completed our errand here without
all this to-do."

Mystic Steeds                         21

"Still, we shall have to deliver these charts and this
weapon, and get on with it quickly. Gitel says we need to be
on our way before dawn."

As he spoke, Gillerman pulled a gray bag from beneath
his cloak and emptied the contents on a small campaign
table.

"This chart will guide you over the Silver Mist, in the
South Channels. This blade will be your badge of proof for
those who would doubt you."

As the old man talked on, a ray of light spun in dazzling
circles outward from his form, and Owen felt himself caught
up once more in the whirlpool of stars and suns that flashed
past him in blinding colors of blue and gold and green.

"Good-bye," called Gillerman over the storm of speed
and sounds, "Good-bye, fare ye well. We shall meet again in
the South Channels."

Without further warning, Owen found himself in the
windy wood not far from his burning settlement, holding
tightly to his mother's hand.

It was all as though nothing had happened, yet everything
had changed. In his hand was the longsword the ancient
stranger had given him, and slung over his shoulder was the
gray bag.

They had no more time to inspect them, because the next
instant was full of arrows, flying from both sides of the
wood, and the two, mother and son, had to make for cover
near the river's edge to avoid being trampled by a company
of the settlement's men, charging hard into the raiders'
Banks.

Rumors and Omens

There had been rumors from time to time of troubles brew-
ing in the vast mountains along the coast on both sides of
them; Owen had heard his father and mother speak of the
events often over the supper table, but he had never given
any serious thought to the eventual consequences of it, and
never in his wildest dreams had it occurred to him that it
would one day find him living under an umbrella of stars in
the forest, and flying for his very life.

Linne had tired, and they lay hidden beneath a grove of
ancient oaks, not far from the settlement meeting hall.
There were distant shouts and cries, and the occasional
sound of a skirmish, although it sounded far away, and
moving in a direction that ran toward the road to the sea.

Just before dawn, he roused his mother, and the two of
them cautiously made their way to the meeting hall, and
met stragglers from every point of the compass, who had
come fleeing from the raiders.

Owen met one such young man in the course of their short
journey, and he questioned him eagerly for news of what
had been going on beyond the small expanse of their own
quiet life,

"What name do you go by, stranger?" asked the youth,
holding out his hand. "My name is Darek."

"I'm called Owen Helwin. My mother is Linne. My
father is Famhart, but he is gone with the others to drive off
the raiders."

•?•?

Rumors and Omens                 23

Darek lowered his gaze and spoke in a softer tone. "I
don't know what's happened to my mother and father. I
haven't heard word of them since the raiders came."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Linne, reaching out a hand
to soothe the lad. "Perhaps there will be news today. We are
on our way to the gathering hall to call our people together,
and to see what we must do to face these troubles that have
come on us."

"I shall join you," replied Darek. "I'm old enough now."

"And I shall, too," echoed Owen. "I have my own sword."

He proudly drew the ancient blade that the two strangers
had left with him, remembering as he did the mysterious
sights and sounds from the night before.

"Where did you get that?" asked Darek, wide-eyed.

Owen was on the verge of saying, but thought better of
mentioning it, and looked away to study the sun, setting the
distant mountain peaks ablaze with a golden fire.

"It was given to me by Gillerman and Wallach," he said
at last, although he did not mention the talking horses.

"Are they kinsmen?"

"Not exactly," replied Owen, unsure of what answer to
make. "Friends."

"You're lucky, then. I have no weapons but my cudgel."

"If you stay with us, my father will see to it that you have
the proper arms, won't he, mother?"

Linne looked alarmed, but quickly hid it. "Of course. We
shall try to find out about your family first, then we shall see
to it that you have everything you need. You'll be perfectly
safe with us."

"Thank you, ma'am. I can earn my keep, and I'm handy
with gathering wood and making fires."

"What was your father's craft?" asked Linne, hoping to
turn the talk to more peaceful subjects.

Darek seemed uneasy and at a loss to reply, but after a
short time spoke softly, looking at his feet, "He is a potter."

"I should think we'll have a great need of his trade before
this is all over with. Our shelter is burned, and I doubt we
have a single bowl left unbroken."

"Don't forget all the other things we've lost," reminded

24 THE RUNES OF DESTINY

Owen. "It's not likely we'll have need of anything but bows
and swords until all this business is properly taken care of."

His voice cracked as he finished, which embarrassed him,
so he slipped his sword in and out of its sheath to make his
point.

Linne was painfully aware that her little boy was not so
small that he hid behind her skirts anymore, and she was at
once amused and saddened by his efforts to appear more
grown up than his years warranted.

"Do you think we'll chase the raiders back into the
mountains?" asked Darek. "I've never seen that part of the
country before,"

"If they are as strong as we have heard, that will prove
quite a chore," replied Linne. "We have had tales now for
ever so long. There are stories about a clan that is led by one
from my husband's old country, Boghatia."

"Bog Hats," said Darek. "I've read about them."

"My father's father was one," exclaimed Owen. "And he
was one of the worst."

"Shush, Owen," scolded Linne. "There's no need to keep
remembering things that are better left alone."

"But he was terrible, mother! You said so yourself."

"He was a misguided, ignorant man who never had a
chance to learn any better, or to mend his ways," said Linne,
a finality in her voice that told Owen the subject was better
left alone.

"I'd hate to meet one," said Darek. "They say they have
fangs for teeth, and yellow eyes."

"That's the Worlughs, or the Gorgolacs," corrected
Owen. "But they don't exist anymore."

"I wouldn't be too sure- I've heard news of just that kind
of thing, away up toward the Lost Falls. No one goes up
there anymore because of it."

"Who would want to go up there?" asked Owen-
anyone looking for the pass over the mountains," said
Darek.

"The pass to where?"

"To the country beyond the Edges."

"What?"

Rumors and Omens                 25

"The country beyond the Edges," repeated Darek. "The
Sea of Islands. Haven't you heard of it?"

Owen looked at his mother. "Do you know of that
country?"

Linne nodded. "I have heard of it. When I was a little
girl, I thought it was a story that had a very sad ending, so I
never told it to you."

"Sad? How, mother?"

"The story that I heard as a little girl was very sad. It
always broke my heart to hear it. My brother, my poor
unfortunate brother, knew it upset me, so he always made it
his favorite. I heard it all my life, until I met your father and
things ended as they did."

Linne had grown very distant, and there was a faraway
look in her eyes that silenced all the questions of Owen and
Darek. She looked very beautiful then, and much younger.
It would have been difficult to tell her from the two youths
who were there, if it had not been for the silver gray threads
that ran through her long hair.

"Was it really so sad?" asked Darek. "I only heard the
promises that were given to anyone who should ever find the
secret of where the waterfolk went when they left this life."

Linne smiled and turned her face away to brush back the
tears. "I'm sure you heard right, Darek. There was a men-
tion of promises to anyone who should find the Three Trees.
It is said those leaves grow with maps to those havens. All I
ever heard, l*m afraid, are the lost souls who perished trying
to find the country where the Three Trees are hidden."

"Did someone you know go in search for them and die?"
asked Darek solemnly.

"My father went," replied Linne, resolutely promising
herself not to cry. She exerted all her power of self-control,
and managed to hold her chin steady.

It had been a long time since she had thought of her
father and her poor, misguided brother. Since she had been
in the new settlement with Famhart, and had her son, she
had filled her life with all the endless things that had kept
her busy and happy; in the early years, the infant that
demanded all her attention, and her young husband, with all

26

THE RUNES OF DESTINY

his plans and dreams. There were a number of years, full
and happy, although fraught with danger and filled with
numerous moves, when they had crossed the Plain of Reeds
and settled in Sweet Rock. After her son had gotten older
and began to experience life more on his own, she had still
found no reason to dwell on the past, or remember those
long forgotten pains and regrets she had left behind in her
childhood and early adult years.

As they moved swiftly along toward the meeting hall, the
smell of smoke from the burning shelters, and the sight of
slain men, who had ridden with the raiders, brought back
many agonizing memories with all the force of a bolt from a
bow.

And now it was beginning again, just when her son was
old enough to be affected by it all.

A rider approached just at that moment, and Owen was
proud and confident when he brandished the longsword of
Gillerman and Wallach. It felt awkward and clumsy in his
hand, but the look in his new friend's eye as he stood poised
before them, made him forget for a moment that he would
not have known what to do had the rider been a foe instead
of an old family acquaintance.

"Holla, Linne. Come aboard here. We shall have to hurry
if we are to catch Famhart. He was just at your place
searching for you and the whelp here."

"Holla, Jacob. We were on our way to the meeting hall.
Are the others already back?"

"We've rounded up all the stragglers from the outskirts in
the settlement. Famhart and I are to head a party to make
sure the woods are clear of this vermin that came on us last
night."

"Did Bristlebeard go out?" asked Owen. "He almost hurt
my two friends."

"Those with the talking horses?" Jacob laughed.

"Yes," replied Owen, coloring and putting away his
sword. "They gave me this," he went on more resolutely.

"Be careful that you don't slice off a finger with it,"
teased Jacob. "And don't drag it behind you like it was a

Rumors and Omens                  27

farm plough. You'll have its point rusted through, if you
do."

"Don't nag him so, Jacob. We've had a long night."

"You don't have to stand up for me, mother. Jacob speaks
the truth."

"Aye, Jacob does. That fancy sticker will get you into a
heap of hot water if you don't learn about using it before you
go around flashing it about like that. One of the blokes who
were at work last night would have made short shift of you,
I'm afraid. Your father is going to have to give you a few
lessons with what to do with that."

"And me, too," added Darek. "I shall have to learn as
well."

Jacob laughed good-humoredly and vowed to the new
youngster, "And you, too, young master, whoever you are.'*

"This is Darek," offered Owen. "He was riding to find
safety last night when the raiders came."

"So!" said Jacob, his manner more serious. "And from
where, good Darek? Is there another settlement on the move
toward us?"

"Only the stragglers, sir," replied the boy. "All those with
me were slain. I'm the only one that got away."

"Then you are welcome here, lad. We shall search for any
others that might have gotten away as well."

Linne put an arm around the small shoulders of the boy.
"He has come through a lot, Jacob. Is there food and a place
to sleep at the hall?"

"Along with everything else you'll need, Linne. Put the
two lads up there with you. I'll walk back from here. I want
to check something over at the shallow ford near the old
shepherd's den. Tell whoever is on their way after me that I
shall be there."

"All right. Come on, you two! See if you can get up."

Owen and Darek mounted behind Linne, and the three of
them set off for the meeting hall, leaving Jacob afoot, and
disappearing toward the river. The two lads waved, and
were gladdened to see the man raise his arm in a parting
salute.

Soon they were among a crowd of others from the settle-

28 THE RUNES OF DESTINY

ment making their way there as well, and shortly after were
dismounting in the square, where Owen paraded about like
a small peacock, in spite of the warning he had gotten from
his friend on the road.

A Mother's Sadness

Famhart found Linne in the throng and gave her a strong
hug. "I see you two have managed all right," he chided her.
"And you've picked up another one for our ranks as well."

"This is Darek, father. He has lost his kin and is going to
stay with us now."

"And here! What's this, young man? Where come you by
that longsword?"

Owen blushed under his father's look, and put his hand on
the hilt of the sword. "Gillcrman and Wallach gave it to me,
father."

"The two strangers who Bristtebeard totd me of?"

"Bristlebeard doesn't know who they are," persisted
Owen. "He is a harsh man."

"He is a brave and respected warrior from our ranks in
the old days. He may not have such smooth edges, but he is
a fair judge of humankind."

"He has mistaken his judgment if he thinks those two are
our enemies," interrupted Linne. She had always felt the
man in question was coarse and vulgar, and reminded her of
all the undesirable qualities of the Bog Hats.

Owen squeezed his mother's hand, and thanked her
silently for coming to his defense.

"So! You've met these two, have you? Bristlebeard only
told me of the circumstances that took place last night, just
before the raiders struck. It would have certainly been easy

A Mother's Sadness                   29

to mistake the strangers' intentions upon the face of what
happened, and the strangers' odd manners."

Famhart's face darkened. "Has anyone had word of them
after they escaped? Perhaps they were with these bandits."

"They're gone. Did Bristlebeard tell you they had horses
that talked, father? They did! I heard them myself. They're
named Gitel and Seravan."

His father scrutinized his son's face to see if he were
jesting.

"Linne? Did you know of this unusual faculty of the
horses the strangers rode?"

"I believe Owen," she replied shortly. "If he says the
animals spoke, I have no reason to doubt his word. I have
heard more than a few animals with speech myself."

Famhart looked a question at her, but chose not to engage
her any further.

"I have never encountered talking horses, so I wouldn't
know," he said, looking perplexed. "It is indeed an odd
thing, but I guess there are many more things that I have no
knowledge of."

"I wish I had heard them," said Darek, trembling with
excitement- "I have often dreamed of dogs or geese speak-
ing. It must be a wonderful thing."

"It was just like you and I speak, Darek- It was so
natural, I first thought it was two men who were watering
their mounts."

"But there was no one there?" asked Famhart. "Are you
sure you weren't tricked by some ruse? Bristlebeard said the
two strangers reminded him of some of the magicians from
the old clans."

"They were strange, father, but not because of what
Bristlebeard said. They were getting ready to leave because
the men were going to lock them in the root cellar."

"We shall question the others about this later. First we
have to see what we must attend to with this bunch from the
boundaries. Come, Linne, let's round up the news. You two
try to keep yourselves out of trouble, and lend your ears to
any gossip you can."

Famhart gave his son a short hug, and clasped hands with

50 THE RUNES OF DESTINY

Darek. "And don't wear such long faces. We shall get to the
bottom of all these matters before long."

He looked more kindly at Darek. "And don't fret, my
young friend. We shall have reports soon, from all our
scouts. Perhaps there wilt be word of some of your family or
friends. It you were on your road to us, we shall be sure to
hear the news from any quarter."

Looking up at Famhart, the young lad tried hard to
control his tears, but without much success. "Thank you, sir.
I was afraid for a while that I might not find any settlement
left that would take me in."

"You come along with us, son, and we'll make sure you're
fed and armed."

Famhart caught the frown of disapproval that lingered in
Linne's eyes, and quickly changed the subject away from
arms or the threat of another war with the new tide of
raiders from the Wastes of Leech and beyond.

"Let's all get our news straight and come to order," cried
Famhart aloud, then blew a high, clear note on the silver
horn that hung by his side. "Everyone fall to, and let's share
our news by rank. Gerlich, give us what you know of the
numbers and particulars of the raiders."

A large-boned man with a terrible scar down the side of
his face took up his place on the stump which stood in front
of the settlement hall, which all the locals called the Throne.
It was four feet across, and had once been a living giant, but
was felled by a lightning storm some years before. The trunk
of that tree had provided the settlement with building mate-
rial and firewood for the first year or two they had been in
that place, and even after all that time, there was still a
great indentation in the earth a foot or more deep, where the
giant tree had crashed to the ground in its death throes.

There were some in the settlement who thought the tree
was one of the last remnants of the Shrane Fal Wood and
the Sorodun, but Linne, who had known one of that number
and had heard him speak, knew that this giant was a mere
tree, and not one of the lost mystical beings who moved
about from time to time, and which had the powers to
change forms if they chose. And it was the same mystical

A Mother's Sadness                    51

beings she knew that were mentioned in the legends of the
country of the Three Trees of which Darek spoke.

Gerlich clambered upon the stump and cleared his throat
a number of times to get the attention of the restless crowd,
and when that failed, he took a small, curved horn from
beneath his cloak and blew a shrill on it.

"Enough, good citizens, enough! Gather round, and let
Gerlich spill his noodle so that you'll all know what he
knows, and be that much the richer for it."

"We'll find it hard to spend that treasure," teased a
brawny man dressed in tanned leather, standing beside
Gerlich, and leaning on a tall bow that reached another foot
above the man's head.

"Hush, Stearborn! You shall have your turn next."

"We wouldn't miss anything if we started with me now,"
replied Stearborn, shuffling the bow from hand to hand, and
making clucking noises in his throat, a strange sound that
came as a result of an old arrow wound in the days when
Linne and Famhart were young marrieds, and before the
birth of Owen.

"Be quiet, Stearborn. Let Gerlich speak," cautioned
Famhart, a faint flicker of a deeper fire burning in his eyes.
That small display silenced the heckler, and the rest of the
crowd soon followed suit and fell into a suitable posture of
listening.

"I've come from the back river near the Ledges,"
reported Gerlich. "There were plenty of the raiders that
crossed there, but they're gone now. There was a hundred or
more, by the signs on the riverbanks."

"Stearborn!" called Famhart. "What of you?"

"The same," replied the man, his voice sounding like a
leaky valve letting air escape after every word. They
burned the shelters at Crossing Fence, and the keeper of the
herd beyond Rolling Ford is gone, dead or run away."

Linne had searched through the crowd gathered at the
Throne, looking for familiar faces. It all had a sad feel to it,
although she had not remembered much of it for a long
time; many of the old ghosts were awakened by the arrival
of Darek, the frightened youngster from another settlement,

32 THE RUNES OF DESTINY

who had lost his parents and friends, much as she had lost
her own long ago.

She tried not to be a clinging mother to Owen, and to let
her young son grow as he would, but this orphaned boy who
had been delivered to their doorstep broke her heart, and try
as she would, she couid not help planning to keep Owen
closer to home, and out of harm's way.

Linne found herself detesting the idea of Owen's having
the longsword that the two travelers had entrusted to him,
and she began to clearly remember their words, come from
that half-waking dream, when they had all seemed to be
swept away on a burning wind, and delivered into a snug,
small study somewhere at the backporch of the sunset.

One after another of the settlement's inhabitants made
their reports, adding whatever information they each had,
and drawing upon the reserves of food and arms to resupply
themselves for the best defense they could devise to protect
their borders.

Almost at the last, Jacob, leading a bound and bleeding
man, made his appearance before the Thorne, and raising
his voice so that he might be heard, called out, "Friends and
worthy neighbors, hear me out quickly! I have come from
the crossing at Sheep's Head, and have brought this raider
with me to bear out my story. I have overheard some
distressing news, and tidings which do not bode well for us."

"Speak, Jacob," urged Famhart, moving to stand beside
his friend. "What news do you have?"

The captive struggled against his bonds, and made as
though he would lunge at his captor.

"This is Medor, from the mountains of the South Chan-
nels. His governor was known to us once! Hear what he has
to say of our treaty now! He has talked to one who has made
promises to him that they will have all our lands and goods
before the fall comes again."

A dull, stubborn roar went up from the crowd, which
caused the bound man to draw back in fear.

"The Red Bear is awake and abroad again," Jacob went
on. "It is the sign from the past that tells us our time of
peace and plenty is over!"

A Mother's Sadness

33

Jacob, dazed and weakened from a wound he had gotten
in the struggle to capture his prisoner, raised his bow above
his head and shook it feebly.

"It is on us, neighbors! They have been slayed in the outer
settlements! The omens are coming to pass!"

Linne's heart had stopped as her old friend spoke, and her
blood ran cold at the talk of the omens, those signs of old
that they had been cautioned to keep a strict watch for, all
those years ago when the young Keepers of the Light had at
last crossed the Boundaries, and left the responsibility to
those remaining behind to carry on the task.

Famhart met her troubled gaze over the heads of the
crowd, and just for a moment, Linne thought she saw her
young husband as he was in those years, handsome and
brave, and devoted to the service of Windameir; and in the
next instant, she saw her son standing next to his father, his
very image in many ways, and her breath came in shallow
gulps.

"We had best call a council meeting for this night," said
Famhart, raising a hand to silence the crowd. "This will
mean that we need the Coda read, and to draw lots as to
who will lead the parties, and who will stay behind to protect
our homes."

"Bring up the prisoner! Let him say why we should not
put him to a swift death!" cried a man at the edge of the
crowd nearest the bound captive.

"Aye!" echoed others. "Give him the court of law, and
then explain to us why he deserves to live another hour
longer."

"And let us have the Feast of the Red Bear," shouted a
grizzled old warrior right at Owen's elbow.

Like a spark in a dry field, the call was taken up and
shouted on all sides, and there was the sound of swords
rattled on scabbards, and war horns blown. Owen had never
heard the men of the settlement in such a violent mood, and
was quite shocked to see that even his father's old friend,
Stearborn, had raised his sword above his head, calling out
with all the rest.

34 THE RUNES OF DESTINY

Darek moved closer to him, trying to make himself heard
over the din. "What is this feast?" he shouted in Owen's ear.

"I've only heard of it," cried Owen. "I don't know
exactly."

"Come on," called his friend. "Let's get back where we
can hear."

Darek made for a hole in the crowd, closely followed by
Owen, and soon they were free of the tumult and roar of the
settlement, sitting beside the river and splashing their faces
with the icy cold water from the high mountains away to the
west.

"Here's my mother! She can tell us what it means."

Linne had seen the two boys break away from the crowd
and followed them. Her face was ashen and she had been
crying, but she tried to collect herself as she came up to
where the two youths sat.

"Will you tell us what the Feast of the Red Bear is,
mother? Why does everyone get so ugly when they speak of
it?"

"The others may have seen one before," said Linne,
brushing back the hair from her face- "I have seen one, long
ago, when we first came from the old countries beyond the
Diamond Swamps. We traveled then with the Keepers, and
it was a grand time."

"Who were the Keepers?" asked Darek, his eyes wide.

"There was Borim Bruinthor, and Olthar Olthlinden, and
the dwarf called Roundhat, but better known as Brian
Brandigore. It was a time of trials and defeat, and bitter
losses in the Middle Islands, until the end came, and the
hosts of Windameir ruled the day."

"You mean you were there with these Keepers? You and
your people?"

"Yes, Darek, some of them. We stumbled onto that grand
stage as innocents. None of us ever dared to think of it as
anything but ordinary. It was not a big affair to sit at table
with Olthar and Jahn Spray, or share a simple supper with
Borim beside a woodland fire."

"I have never heard you speak like this, mother,'* said

A Mother's Sadness                    55

Owen, surprise and amazement in his voice. "You've barely
mentioned those times before."

"I always said there would be a time when we would need
to speak of them again," replied Linne. "I have been quite
selfish, I know. Some of the memories I wanted to keep for
my old age, and not share them with any but Famhart.
Sometimes it is cruel to stir old ghosts that linger on in the
safety of your mind, far from the light of day."

"But you'll tell us more, mother? We would know of all
the exploits and all the dangers," insisted Owen, clasping
the hilt of his sword resolutely.

"Yes, my funny one. The time has come that we shall
have to sit down to a fire and spin out all the old yarns, and
gather together our strength for these troubled times that
seem to have found us out again."

"Will you let me go with you?" asked Darek timidly. "I
know I don't warrant the honor, but I would serve in any
capacity. I could cook, or carry wood, or tend your horses."

"You shall do no such thing, my good Darek, Wherever
we shall find our fortunes, that's where you shall be, too. We
have all been made wanderers once more, and all of us shall
have to bind ourselves closer together as never before, if we
are to see the end of these times "that are upon us."

"Could Gillerman and Wallach be with the Keepers?
They certainly acted oddly enough. I can still hardly believe
my own eyes and ears."

"We mustn't speak of them again, Owen, except among
our most trusted friends. There are those who would not
welcome news of such doings, and to find that the Keepers
are once more being recalled together to contain the dark
tide that's flowing."

"Will I learn to ride and use a longsword?" asked Darek.
"And to go with the men of the Line?"

Linne reached out a gentle hand. "I am sure everyone
your age will be called upon to do those very things, Darek.
A mother always knows, and always dreads the day that
shall come, when she shall see her sons take up the call and
march away to war. I never thought I would fall victim to it,
but I have."

36             THE RUNES OF DESTINY

Owen hugged his mother tightly, torn between his feel-
ings of pride at wearing the longsword the two masters had
given him, and sorrow at knowing he was the cause of his
mother's sadness.

OVERLORDS
OF THE
CHANNELS

A Ghost from the Past

Around the late fire, Linne and Famhart sat, watching the
two young lads dozing beside the cheerful warmth, stirring
occasionally as a twig snapped and crackled into a thousand
bright sparks that showered the gloom about the flames with
fiery red trails. They had been asleep for an hour or more,
but were reluctant to give up their new status as grown-ups,
and continued on, nodding with their heads leaned on their
hands.

"Here we have the two newest warriors of the clan,"
teased Famhart, looking toward his son and the orphaned
lad who had in a short space of time become a part of their
family.

"Don't," said Linne quietly. "I'm having a hard enough
time as it is. Let's not talk of it tonight."

Her husband gently pulled her to him and hugged her,
stroking back the long hair from her eyes. "You were never
this giddy about action before. I remember a certain young
lady who was even ready to go so far as to take her own life
rather than surrender herself to a lout that claimed to be my
father."

"You know that was different."

"But you were younger then, you say? I don't recall that
that stubborn streak has lessened any over the years."

Linne drew away halfheartedly. "You're terrible some-
times. 1 don't think you worry at all that something will
happen that will take Owen away from us."

"He has been taken away from us since he was able to
reach the door latch in the shelter, Linne. We can only

W

A Ghost from the Past                 39

watch him grow, and try to give him the things he will need
to live in his world, whatever it may turn out to be."

"And poor Darek! Look at him! So young, and all alone
now."

"I know what you're thinking, my sweet. It could just as
easily be Owen in his place, if anything were to happen to
us. Let's just hope that there would be others like us out
there who would take him in and care for him, and to make
sure he had a chance at growing to be a contented old man,
full of tales and memories enought to last him a lifetime."

Linne shook her head stubbornly. "That's not what I
meant. It would be easier dealing with our own deaths! I just
can't bear to think of him carrying around that ridiculous
sword, and falling right into the old patterns that we all
know are so painful, and lead to such grief."

"Here, here, we'll have no talk of anyone dying as yet. I
certainly don't intend to end it all so soon, and you know I'm
not going to let Owen go off into something that's dangerous
without teaching him everything he needs to know to defend
himself."

"That's what I'm talking about," pursued Linne. "It
never changes. Here we are with a fire and a blanket again,
just like it was when we started. I hate this life, leaving one
place and wandering on to somewhere else, always on the
run to somewhere, and never knowing where it all ends or
begins."

Famhart studied the fire for a while in silence, listening to
the crackling and watching the sparks fly away into the
darkness. He brushed away a live ember that had landed on
Owen's riding cloak, and stroked the sleeping lad's head.

The night about them was cool, and a high band of stars
stood gleaming brightly between the leaves of the tall aspen
and pine grove where they had camped. Around them, but
at some little distance, the other watchfires of the settlement
glowed in dim echoes of the stars.

"It does seem as though we've done all this before," he
said at last, his voice husky. "But then I guess it was
different, with the Keepers being with us, and all the won-
derful things that were always at hand."

40 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

He looked beseechingly at his wife. "You have to admit
that some of it was glorious fun. I had almost hoped that
maybe the story of the talking horses might have something
to do with the old ones. Those were grand days."

Famhart's voice trailed away, and he gazed with shining
eyes at the memories he found in the flames.

Linne drew him back abruptly. "There were some good
times, husband, but that was long ago, and now we're not
dealing with the Keepers or their like. This is simply a man-
made border war that promises to be long and ugly, and the
celebrating of the Feast of the Red Bear won't make it
anything other than what it is."

Owen's eyelids fluttered at the mention of the Red Bear,
but he kept his eyes tightly shut and pretended to sleep on.

"You and I know that. Linne. The others want to try to
get the steam up with practicing the old rites, and that may
be what they need. These aren't the best of times now. There
are none of the Keepers here with us to keep everyone's
spirits up, or to give us much to cling to. They left us with
the idea that it was all over when they crossed the Bounda-
ries again. I don't think any of us expected anything else to
happen."

"I didn't," agreed Linne. "I have to admit that when Owen
was born, I honestly thought that he'd be able to grow and
prosper in peace, without ever having to learn about all the
harsh edges that life has. I had enough foolish youth left in
me t,o think that once the Middle Islands were reached, that
would be an end to the Darkness, and all that went with it."

Owen wanted to ask a question of his mother, but he dared
not breathe any louder. He felt Darek moving about uneasily
next to him, and thought he would surely attract his parents'
attention, but they were joined at that moment by the old
warrior, Stearborn, who gruffly greeted them, and poured
himself a mug of mulled ale.

"Help yourself to the stew, you old war horse," invited
Famhart-

"These are more like the old times, eh?" grunted
Stearborn, dishing himself up a heaping plate of the hot
stew. The steam rose before him as he placed the bowl to his

A Ghost from the Past                 41

lips, giving his scarred face a grotesque appearance by the
flickering firelight.

"We've certainly traded our lot of tales around campfires
like this, old friend."

Stearborn ate noisily and quickly, then washed his food
down with the mulled ale. He had watched Linne carefully
the whole time.

"Your stew is beyond the words of an old fish like me to
compliment," he said politely, his voice raspy and hissing
from the old wound.

"You are always a willing victim for my cooking,"
returned Linne.

"When you've done for yourself for as many seasons as I
have, you learn to take your pleasures when and where you
can. That's one of the rules of the game." He paused and
looked at the two youngsters. "Another is that you play the
hand as you sec it fall, my lady. Sometimes we have a choice
of the matter, other times not. We get our greatest hurts
from not knowing when to fight, and when to walk away."

"Your parables don't reach me tonight," said Linne irrita-
bly. "I don't follow your line of thought at all."

"Oh, there is no line of thought to it," chuckled Stearborn
in his croaky, hissing way. "I'm merely saying that you've
lost any hold you have over the whelp, and too much inter-
ference at this point will make him buck-shy."

Stearborn left the rest unsaid, and finished his ale at a
draught.

Owen was awake now, and cleared his throat unsurely, so
that his voice would not crack as he spoke. "What Stearborn
says is true, mother- I'm old enough to be following my
father now. The settlement has seen the last of the boy that I
was. I have to learn the craft of war to protect you and all
the rest of our friends."

He lowered his eyes and spoke more softly then, but there
was an intensity to his voice that struck Linne.

"And you are married to Famhart. My father is the
leader of the settlement, and they are all waiting to see if I
measure up to my father's mark. I must grow up now,
mother, or it would be the worst possible thing for me.

42 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

Others half my age have been instructed in all the ways of
the bow and sword and horses, and look upon me as a sickly
lad more at home about the camp than at a watchfire. I have
to do these things."

Darek, who had awakened in time to hear Owen speak,
sat silently, watching the lad with a strange expression that
escaped the others-

Stearborn laughed a gruff laugh, even though Linne was
raising her voice to object.

"You four have me outnumbered and at a disadvantage,"
she managed. "There are not other mothers here now to
take my side, but I shall give you reason to thank me for
that. If there were others here with me, we could give you an
ocean of tears that have been caused by your silly codes and
rituals. If it were only a game, that could be overlooked and
indulged, but it's a matter of young lives at stake here.
Blood shall be spilled, and for what? Because someone else
wants a piece of land or a horse? Small matters to slay one
another over!"

"Small matters, indeed," countered Famhart. "There
could be nothing closer to the truth, and yet if that is
allowed, the killing goes on, until at last you have a long
string of bloodshed that grows to such- proportions that the
weight of it is staggering."

"Another way to put it is this, my lady," interrupted
Stearborn. "If we let the raiders off with a handslap, they
shall be back in a fortnight with twice this number, and
twice as many of our folk will be slain. But if we catch the
wolf when he comes in among the sheep, that's an end of it,
and the flock has no more worries for its safety."

Stearborn made his point by hacking off the end of a log
in the fire with his longsword, and stamping it out beneath
his boot heel. "You may have a loss of life, but it is a
calculated loss, and is nothing like the cost if you let the
aggression go unchecked."

"Men!" snorted Linne. "I wish for once women could set
the stage and direct the action. There would be a definite
shift in the shape of things, I dare say."

"I dare say," agreed Famhart, "yet things have been

A Ghost from the Past                 43

going on in this manner for as long as there has been
humankind about to grace this small world of ours. And it's
not only us, but all kinds as well, whether of the sea, or air,
or earth."

Stearborn had poured himself another ale, and seeing
Owen sitting next to him at the fire, he offered the lad a
drink from the large mug. Owen refused at first, fearing a
reprimand from his mother, but she looked away in disgust,
so he eased the vessel to his mouth and drank a small
amount, choking as he did so, but managing to keep it all
down.

The grizzled old warrior laughed his ragged laugh and
clapped him heartily on the back, which almost brought the
warm ale up again. "Good lad! You'll learn to take life as it
comes, and not fear any man or beast or creed, and live free,
as we were meant to."

"Hear, hear," piped in Darek, tasting the contents of the
mug, and spewing it back out immediately, making horrible
faces.

"You've got to learn what to do with it, lad," scolded
Stearborn. "That's good, honest ale, and not meant to be
spit upon the ground."

"Go easy on him, you old wart," chided Famhart.
"You've grown calloused in your age. The lad is but a
sapling. He needs more from us than chastisement."

Stearborn clapped Darek's shoulder and reached into his
cloak, where he rummaged around for a time, at last with-
drawing a small knife with its own sheath, and a fine carved
ivory handle. "That there came from the battle at Two
Flower Well. Hold to it, and you'll never have trouble with
anything of a nature to harm you."

"It was said to have cut a leaf from the Three Trees,"
added Famhart. "It's said it is one of the blades of the world
which can do that feat."

Owen looked longingly at the small, perfectly shaped
knife. "I'll let you hold my sword if you'll let me see your
knife," he offered,

Darek held his prize close to his chest, gazing lovingly at

44 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

every small detail of the intricately shaped and delicately
formed blade.

"It is Darek's," reminded Famhart.

"I know, father. I only wanted to see it."

Stearborn clapped Owen on the back again, laughing.
"You'll get your turn at it, my lad. Come, here's Jacob!
Come on, you rough-hided old goat, sit with us and tell us
how it fares with the questioning of the border rat."

Jacob sat down heavily and took up a plate of stew. He
ate hungrily for a time, staring into the fire, then turned to
Famhart.

"He knew of you and Linne," he said finally, shifting his
weight to get more comfortable, and stoking up the fire until
it blazed fiercely.

"How came he by that information?"

"He said that this was a special message from his gover-
nor to you, and that it was for you alone. I took it from him
before the others had a chance to search him."

"Is he alive?"

"Yes, for now. I don't give his chances much thought of
more than an even roll. The citizens are not in a forgiving
mood."

They'll calm down," said Stearborn. "After they have
their reckoning at the feast and blow off some steam, they'll
be happy enough to send the prisoner to do their labor for
them."

"We'll see, my good Stearborn. I don't know that I would
agree with you there. Perhaps if the raiders had not come,
that might be the way of it."

"What is it that the man sent?" asked Linne, her curios-
ity getting the better of her.

"Strange," mused Famhart. "I can't make heads nor tails
of this." He held the small object out before him, studying it
by the uncertain glow of the fire.

"It almost looks like a brooch," observed Linne. "It's
fashioned like some old pieces I have seen in books, from the
ancient Boghatians."

She took the object and gazed at it for a long while, then

A Ghost from the Past                 45

gave a little cry of surprise. "Here! It is a brooch! See the
clasp? It's hidden here in the fine web of the metal."

"Something from my great-great-grandmother's day, by
the looks of it," ventured Stearborn.

"Or older," added Famhart. "There's something written
here, but I can't make it out."

Owen and Darek joined the adults in trying to decipher
the tiny runes that seemed to flicker about in the fiery
shadows like flames on a misty lake, and no one noticed that
the same reflection came from the longsword that the two
ancient men had given Owen.

Linne tired of trying to read the seemingly illegible writ-
ing. "I can't make anything of the words, but it would be
pretty piece to close my cloak with," she said, holding it up
to her throat to show Famhart how it would look-

"You ladies always have an eye for a sparkle," chided
Stearborn. "I've never known it to fail where the fairer set is
concerned."

"Bosh, you old goat! What would you know of any of
that?"

"You might not think it to look at me, Jacob, but I've
been married nine times in my life. My last wife threw me
out two winters ago because she claimed she couldn't recall
whether it was me she was wedded to or not, for she hadn't
seen me in so long."

Famhart had laughed at his friend's reply, and was turn-
ing to speak to his wife, when Linne turned an ashen color,
clutched wildly at her throat, and fell in a senseless heap at
his feet.

The men at first looked about in every direction, thinking
they had come under an attack by a'n unseen assailant, but
they soon discovered that their perimeter was secure, and
returned their attention to Famhart's stricken wife-

"She can't breathe," snapped Famhart, his jaw set tight,
"Loosen her cloak, son!"

Owen did as he was told, although his hands felt like
awkward claws, and he had to struggle to undo the brooch
that Linne had fastened her cape with.

46 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

"I can't get it undone," he complained, growing frantic in
his efforts.

Stearborn leaped up and moved the lad aside. "I smell a
dead fish in all this," he cried, and took the brooch between
his strong fingers and put all his strength to the task of
opening the reluctant fastener. Try as he might, he could not
budge the clasp, and in a last ditch effort to release it,, he
took the knife he had given to Darek and used the small
blade as a pry bar to force open the lock.

There was a faint pop, and the brooch fell away, leaving
Linne still unconscious, but some color began to return to
her face.

"The devil's locket," snarled Famhart, and flung the
offending thing into the fire. A great hiss of steam shot out
of the flames, and a towering green cloud hung over them all
for a moment before drifting away into the waiting night.

"Quickly, son, get us a blanket and the healer. Run!"

Owen flew as though pursued by a demon, followed
closely by Darek.

Stearborn and Jacob covered Linne with her cloak, and
Famhart tried to make her comfortable, and patted her
hands in an effort to revive her.

"This is foul work," growled Jacob. "And my fault! I
shall never forgive myself if anything should happen to
Linne."

"Hush, Jacob! She will be fine. You did nothing amiss.
She's not able to get her breath, that's all. She'll be fine in a
moment."

Owen returned breathless and wild-eyed, followed by an
older, balding man who wore the dark green cloak of a
healer. They parted to let the man in, and watched anx-
iously as he examined the fallen Linne.

"What has she had that smells of flowers?" he asked at
last. "A tea?"

"Nothing, Burnell. She had nothing! She was all right one
minute, then she just grabbed at her throat and fell, just as
you see her."

"The brooch! Where is it?" asked Jacob. "I thought I
smelted flowers as she put it on the cloak."

A Ghost from the Past                47

He raked a stick through the fire until he found the object
he desired, then flicked it deftly out of the flames.
"Let it cool, then let me see it," ordered Bumell.
"What was it the prisoner said about it, Jacob? That it
was for me?"

"From his governor, and that you would understand,"
"Did he say who his governor was?"
"A man called Largo."

As the name echoed shallowly about his head, Famhart
sank slowly to his knees beside his wife, and took her
unfeeling hand in his.

"It is not yet finished," he muttered to himself. "We never
thought of this."

"What, father? What is unfinished?"
"Your mother had a brother, Owen, who turned to the
Darkness. We thought he had been dead all these years."
I      Owen was about to question his father further, when the
i    men came to set up the shelter for Linne, and in the ensuing
activity, Famhart was called upon to address the others, as
well as direct his lieutenants in the following day's marching
orders.

Owen crept back to the tent where his mother lay and
held her hand close to his heart, saying all the prayers he
knew over and over again, and trying to imagine why any-
one would harm her- He had never heard anything of her
brother, except that he was a poor unfortunate lad, who
never seemed to be able to do anything right, and who
finally came to a bad end.

Except that now his mother was stricken with an odd
illness, and would not open her eyes, and it was her own
brother who was somehow at fault.

,      "I shall find him and kill him for this," he vowed, and in
swearing his oath, he pulled his longsword from its scab-
bard, and held it aloft over his head.

As Owen spoke, a pale glimmering white fire seemed to
flow out of the blade and down his hand, until his whole
|    body was alight with it, and as quickly as it had begun, it
I    was over, except that a firm voice came, as distinct as if

48 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

GUlerman had been standing beside him, speaking into his
ear.

"You must bring a leaf from the Three Trees, Owen. It is
the only thing that will help your mother."

"But how?" cried the boy. "I don't know how to reach
there."

"You must find the country of the Three Trees. We await
you there."

Owen was poised to ask another question, when the air
about him moved as though someone were brushing by him
in the dark, and he was left alone in the tent with his
mother, who tossed about uneasily, lost in the chambers of a
deep and troubling dream.

The Men of the South Channels

In the early morning light of the high pass, the snow was
still silver white against the gray rocks that had begun to
show through. The hooded figure of the man moved slowly
along, picking his way carefully, leading his horse while
walking gingerly on before- He was tall and dark, with long
curls of thick hair hanging outside the cowl of his cape. His
horse was a handsome roan animal, with fine tack and a
heavily ornamented saddle.

At intervals, the man stopped to gaze out over the valley
floor far below, faintly gold and pale green at the lower
altitudes, with a silver thread of a river running along the
western edge of the forest, which went on into the hazy
clouds that marked the beginning of the coast of the Sea of
Roaring.

The horse champed anxiously at his bit, and lifted a hoof
to stamp nervously on the frozen ground.

The Men of the South Channels             49

"We're almost there, horse. Don't give yourself fits now.
We'll be there in an easy ride before this day is finished."

The animal shook his mane and flared his nostrils, his
breath still coming in soft white clouds from the high cold of
the dawn.

After another long pause to study the valley, the man
went on, slowly and cautiously, picking his way along the
narrow trail that had almost imperceptibly begun to lead
downward. Small streams of water collected under the
horse's hooves at every step, then collected into larger rivu-
lets, all running faster, gathering speed as they went, until a
few hundred feet further down the trail, the man saw the
first of the small falls that cascaded over a forty foot drop;

from there, it filled a large pool, which in turn fed a bub-
bling brook, icy to the touch, and growing ever wider and
faster as it continued on into the distant valley.

Horse and rider followed along beside the infant river
until it fell away into a gorge hundreds of feet deep, roaring
and tumbling and making a noise so great it seemed to fill
the very air with its thunder. The man rode on from that
point, picking another branch of the trail which skirted the
river in its deep channel, and crossed a rocky outcrop, then
dropped downward very slowly until the tops of the first
trees came into view, and announced that the worst of the
high pass was over, and that the going would be much
easier.

The man was riding at barely a walking pace, his head
nodding along as if he were dozing in the saddle, and paying
no attention to his surroundings. Twice the horse snorted
and turned its ears about this way and that, as if it had
heard something that spooked it, but the man never moved a
muscle, or took any notice of his mount's giddiness.

There were small knots of trees along the crude path the
man followed, and as they got into lower altitudes, the small
clumps became groves, then larger still, until at last they
were in the top-most edge of the great green vault that
covered the valley floor.

There were oak and elm and ash now, and taller, deep red
trees that had trunks larger around than five men could

50 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

circle with their outspread arms. These were not new to the
man, who had once been to the ancient country where lived
the mystical Three Trees. He had stolen a leaf then, and it
had given him the powers he needed to carry on his mission
of revenge, to pay back ail those who were against him, and
left him for dead long ago, during the monstrous siege of the
Middle Islands, when all the infidels had overthrown the
true ruler of the Lower Boundaries.

And here he was at the next step of his plan, to gather
together the most awesome army yet left on Atlanton, to
strike a blow while the opportunity presented itself, when
the lands were free of the dreaded Keepers. In all the
countries the man had traveled, he had found only traces of
his hated enemies, but no sign of their immediate return.
Since he had taken the human form, he had been able to
travel freely, and to pass among all kinds without notice or
alarm, and he had begun to find that he had many compatri-
ots for the asking, who seemed eager to join with his forces
for the promise of booty and adventure.

As he rode thinking of all the pleasant moments he would
have to savor when victory would be his, and he would be
able to cast all those who had opposed him into the sea, a
long, yellow-feathered shaft buried itself in a tree next to his
head, followed shortly by two more. The horse reared and
whirled about, but the man was an expert rider and kept his
seat, spurring his mount on to outdistance his unseen
assailants.

"He's breaking for it," shouted a voice from his right.
"Head him off at the crosstrail."

A horn blew wildly, and there were others that answered,
and the hiss and angry crackle of the arrows as they snapped
past his ears. He drew his longsword and thrust his arm
through the leather loops of his shield, which hung at his
saddle horn, and put the reins between his teeth to leave his
arms free to defend himself.

There were cries and shouts, and the snap of arrows, but
they all missed their mark, except one, which struck the
man's shoulder, but glanced away, for he was wearing an
old elfin mail shirt from the armies of the Shanoliel.

The Men of the South Channels             51

Thundering along at full gallop, he came head-on with a
mounted rider who attempted to block his way on the
narrow path, but the enemy was not as quick or as powerful.
and was ridden down, losing his seat in the process- Another
appeared, then another, and both met the same fate, and
were overthrown by the swift strokes of the dark man.

The horns were further behind him now, so he slowed his
pace, and tried to muster his thoughts. He had not planned
to announce his arrival in so bold a way, and had hoped to
be able to scout about in the valley before the inhabitants
knew of his whereabouts or business. He had hoped that he
would find settlements that were of his own sentiments
regarding the Keepers, and all who followed them, and he
smiled to himself to find the natives to be so ready to kill
first and question later. They would have no way of knowing
his intentions, or whether he were of a friendly nature or
otherwise. This cheered him greatly, and he could not have
received a warmer welcome had there been musicians and
fools to lighten his way.

He reined in his lathered horse and dismounted, walking
slowly along to cool the animal.

"Perhaps they will catch up with us, horse, and we shall
clap an eye to their features, be tfiey fair or foul. I hope foul!
But not those imbecile Worlughs, or the grotesque Gorgo-
lacs, I hope there are simple folks, who look as akin to
another as bread and jam. Those are the ones I have most
need of now. It was a wretched fool mistake to loose that
filth before. One look at those creatures from the northern-
lands, and all joined against them. No, horse, what I have in
mind is a more daring deed than simply lining up beasts to
attack the Keepers and their pawns. We shall be the new
order, and the first to return to the true law, which says that
the strong shall survive, and the weaklings shall serve their
masters."

The horse raised his head and shook his mane, blowing
and breathing heavily.

"Even you, horse, are fooled. If you knew my true nature,
you'd have shied away and been gone long ago, and never
accepted me as your master upon your back."

52 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

Here the man threw his head back and laughed a short,
barking laugh. "If you only knew, horse, that you were
carrying me, you'd bolt away from me this moment, and
never allow me near you again."

As the man walked on, he threw back his cloak and hood,
and shook out all the long dark hair, which fell down to his
shoulders, which were broad and powerful.

"I'm glad that I found man-shape that was of the proper
stature. I grew tired of my runtness. But no one shall ever
ridicule me for that again. I shall not take up that form
again until I have come face to face with my old
tormentors."

He was prepared to go on, but at that moment, he heard
movement close behind him.

"Come, friends! I have not come to rob or plunder your
settlement! I seek allies to band together to drive the infidel
out. You can see I am but a simple man."

"Who be you, stranger?" asked a curt voice from behind
a thick oak. "What trade have you in the South Channels?
Speak up!"

"I am here because I have heard there are settlements
here which welcome all comers who have sworn a blood oath
against the infidels which rule by the power of the Keepers."

A silence fell as his words trailed off into the forest, and
for a brief moment, he felt a pang of fear that he had
revealed himself to the wrong side, and that his information
was in error about the South Channel Mountains and the
wild clans that lived there.

Without warning, a gray-bearded man clad in a deep
green cloak and knee-boots stood before him. The stranger
was as large as the man, and had pale blue piercing eyes,
like the eyes of a bird, or a snake,

"You speak boldly for a man who has just crossed the
lines into the South Channels. There are none here to speak
for you, or to save you if we don't take a cotton to you. What
say you to that, lowlander?"

"I am no lowtander, friend. I have come from over the
Malignes, and crossed the Silver Mist Pass. I have been in

The Men of the South Channels             53

all the lands between, collecting all those who will ride with
me against the lowland infidels."

"Mighty large talk for one that appears to be in a heap of
hot water, Arnault. We could string him up by his ears if we
liked, and there wouldn't be a lot he could do to stop it."

"I could do quite a lot that you wouldn't care for, my
friend. But we waste our time here gabbing in the wood.
Surely you must have a governor, or elder, who makes such
decisions as these. Let's go before him, and I can present my
case in a proper fashion."

"I am an elder," replied the man called Arnault coldly. "I
make these decisions."

"Very well. Then I shall address you, my good man, and
put it to you as quickly as I can. Spare me, and you spare
yourselves. Join me, and you shall share in all the lands and
goods of all we take. We shall drive the Keepers' stewards
from their lands, and rule once more for ourselves."

"We already do that," said Arnault, who motioned to an
unseen figure behind him, and there came forth another
green-clad figure with a long bow, who was taking aim at
the man's heart.

At the precise instant the arrow was released, the man
whirled once and raised a hand, which the dart hit, and fell
shattered to the ground.

"You cannot harm me, my friends. I tell you I am Bern
the Red, come from death and murder to avenge my
betrayal. You would be wise to join with me here, for I can
call upon more powers to convince you."

"Did you see that? He struck my dart down! And it was
fair shot!"

"Hold," ordered Arnault. "We'll hear you out, stranger.
If you be who you say you are, then you've come to the right
place. None of us here hold, or ever held with the Keepers.
They may have been all right for the louts who believed all
that palaver, but those of us who wanted the truth, and to
follow the law as we saw it for ourselves, never went along
with the good-rights like them."

"Wisely said, master. I can be a good ally, or a terrible
enemy. It's for you to decide which it shall be."

54 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

"If you have any way of teaching us how to bat down
darts like that, then I'd say we'd have a fair chance of
taming these mountains, and the Valley of the Lost Weir as
well."

"Our goals will go on to include much more than that,
good Arnault. I have a plan that will sweep away all the
infidels below the boundary, and I shall sit in state over all
of it. Those who swear their service to me shall be well
rewarded for their efforts."

"We may or may not swear service to you, stranger. That
remains to be seen. There's more to it all than a little sleight
of hand. We've long lived here in these mountains, and we're
not so anxious to take our leave of them. We might be of
some aid to you here, if you have an army, as you say you
do."

"If he had one, why isn't it here with him?" asked the
man who shot the arrow, eyeing Bern suspiciously.

There were grunts of agreement from several others who
had crowded in closer to their leader.

"My armies have grown in strength, and multiply every
day. I have been on the move these past years, enlisting
those I find trustworthy. It has been a slow and tedious job.
There are still agents of the Keepers who watch for those of
our kind, but I've been clever, and they have never suspected
my presence."

"But where are these armies? Do they follow you about at
such a distance that we can't see them?"

"I have done my best to explain it to you, friend. They
await word from me. They are armed and ready 10 move at
a moment's notice. When I send the signal, they shall arise
as one force and smite down the infidel with one sure, final
blow."

Bern paced as he spoke, spinning around on his heel so
suddenly that he startled the leader, Arnauk, who had been
walking beside him.

"And the fools don't even know that the word that shall
call my army together will be the very celebration that they
have been holding for themselves. A feast in my name, good
Arnault! The very thing. It is too sweet to think of."

The Men of the South Channels             55

"The Feast of the Red Bear," repeated the gray-bearded
man. "We have heard of it, but only in old tales. I can't
recall why we don't have it ourselves."

"It is still celebrated by the lowlanders, friend. They have
cause to hold it every so often, to keep the blood boiling and
the swords honed. They will have cause to remember it well
now, for the Feast of the Red Bear will bathe them in blood
and finish up the fools once for all. I have suffered all that I
have suffered gladly, to be able to be there at the finish, so
they will know who it is who has won. It will indeed be
sweet!"

"You speak as one who has held a long grudge, brother,"
said Arnault. "We, too, have known the sting of defeat and
loss. We are an old clan here in the South Channels, but we
have all we can do to keep open our borders. The lowlanders
went to war with us and have kept us at bay here in the
South Channels for a long time, but we are beginning to tire
them with our raids. They never know when or where we'll
strike, and they have grown lax these past seasons."

"If it is the valley that you want returned to you, or if you
have a debt to settle with someone for an injustice done to
you, it will be made right for you if you agree to follow Bern
the Red. We shall cast down all those fools who have
opposed the natural law. There is no room for the retiring or
weak. The law reads that he who is the fittest shall conquer

all."

"Hear, hear," shouted a voice, then was joined by
another.

"We'll have a bit of that," added a third.

"Come along, Bern. We shall introduce you to the others
of the settlement. They shall be glad to know of your ideas.
Life here in the South Channels hasn't been the easiest
existence."

Bern swung smoothly into his saddle. "I'm sorry to have
been so rough with you fellows back there. I wasn't sure that
you weren't from the other side."

"That's a joker pot if 1 ever heard it," laughed the
bowman who had shot at Bern. "The bloke was worried that
the good-rights might have gotten him. What a fate!"

56 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

"If they had known who I was when I was among them, it
would have set off a stir that I dare say you would have
heard about, even living off out of the beaten track as you
do."

"You speak mighty big for a fellow that's out of his
territory. Even if you know some small trick to fool the
common riffraff hereabouts, there is more to be said about it
than what we can chat over here. We shall talk at length
about this when we're home."

Arnault blew a short signal on a curved stag hom, and the
woods about the men became alive with motion. Armed
riders appeared from every direction, and the entire proces-
sion followed their leader off in a general course that wound
downward on the faint path, and more riders joined them as
they went along.

"You seem to have a good following, friend," said Bern
after a time. "This is well, for I have a need of large, well-
armed parties- There shall be fine rewards for all who agree
to ride with Bern the Red."

"You shall have to explain yourself at greater lengths
than that," replied Arnault. "Just because we live in this
isolated part of the world doesn't make us easy to dupe. We
come from a long line of high-blooded ancestors. If we find
we don't have a use for you, or your high-flown plans, there
are ways of dealing with you when we arrive at that bridge."

Bern cursed under his breath, but this was not an oppor-
tune moment to demonstrate any of the other illusions that
he had mastered while he was a guest in the country of the
Mystic Trees.

There was a short ride through the thickening forest, then
Afnault dismounted and led the way to a seemingly solid
wall of thorns and vines that marked the end of the path.
There was a moment of silence, then very slowly the wall
parted, revealing a wide lane that ran between even lawns
and neat dwellings, each one painted a matching green or
brown to blend in with their surroundings.

Bern had not seen anything at all from his vantage point
high in the Silver Mist Pass, and was quite amazed at the

Kegin in Command                  57

number of shelters, and the crowds of people that thronged
about their leader, eyeing the newcomer with open distrust.

He had some misgivings about his plans then, but his fear
made him desperate, and he vowed to himself to return to
his old form if necessary to properly convince his new
acquaintances. They were much more adept at many things
than Bern had expected, and did not seem easity daunted by
a few sleight of hand tricks.

If the worst happened, he knew he could rely on his old
form to throw them off their guard, and he would take that
opportunity to make good his escape.

"There must be a soft spot to this fellow." Bern whispered
to himself, trying to gain his confidence back. "And when I
find it, I shall work on that until I have them alt eating out
of my hand."

Promising himself this, he unloosed the cloak from his
shoulders, and rode taller in his saddle, deciding to put on
the best face he could, and to see what he could of the
settlement and its folk. Somewhere there, he knew, was the
one flaw he would need to bring these strangers to their
knees, and to put them at his beck and call.

Kegin in Command

It was very early and still dark beneath the morning sky,
when Famhart took Owen and Darek aside, careful to move
out of earshot of Linne, although they knew she could not
hear. Burnell had stayed by her side in the travel shelter all
night, but had no good news to report.

"You and Darek must stay here to take care of Linne
while I go to try to find help. There must surely be some of
the Keepers left somewhere in one settlement or other-

58 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

Burnell said there might be one in Red Point, so that's
where I'll try first. It's their help we need now. We can do
nothing for this kind of illness. I see an omen in it that
doesn't bode well for any of us."

"But who will teach us if you're gone, father? You said
you'd teach us the sword and bow!"

"I will, son. I must first find someone to guide us."

"Gillerman and Wallach told me where to go," said
Owen. He had hesitated to mention his dream, but now
when it looked as though they were to be left behind, he
spoke up.

"Who are they?" asked Famhart, his fair features aged
by the worry over his stricken wife.

"The two who gave me the sword, father. And who had
the horses who talked."

Famhart nodded absently, then turned to call to a man
standing next to the watchfire in front of the shelter where
Linne lay. "Kegin, come here! I want you to tell these two
that you will show them all there is to know of the longsword
and bow* You are my finest soldier and instructor of the
tender art of arms. I leave these two under your charge."

Darek smiled, but Owen spoke up again. "Father, I tell
you I know which way to go to find the help my mother
needs. And then you can teach us our lessons yourself."

"I'm sure your two friends were fine fellows, but I have
need of a Keeper, I rue the day I didn't protest when the last
of them began to leave. I should have known better than to
think this business was finished."

Kegin, standing next to his commander, turned and stud-
ied the growing sunrise. "What of this Largo? Surely we
can't leave the camp unprotected with him at large. If he
found us once at Sweet Rock, it would only follow that he
would be able to find us again."

"Of course, Kegin," agreed Famhart. "That's why I pro-
pose to take a band to seek help from the Keepers, and to
leave you in charge here. I think you should all be safe and
sound if you made in a general direction of the coast. There
are two or three friendly settlements left there. Then we can
link up again at say White Bird, or Swan Haven."

Kegin in Command                 59

"I'm at your service, Famhart. Whatever you wish. We
shall say White Bird, or Swan Haven."

"But father," complained Owen. "That's the wrong direc-
tion! Gillerman and Wallach said we need to get a leaf from
the Three Trees, and that's away toward the South
Channels."

The two older men shook their heads.

"The South Channels would be the last place to seek help
for Linne, son. Those parts have been full of the worst
outcasts since the call to the Middle Islands. Those there
that aren't outright renegades are on the borderline of it,
and the others just follow their own rules and live as they
please with no thoughts of others. I can't say that they're
evil, or turned to the Darkness, but they certainly have no
interest in us or our concerns."

"But that's where Gillerman and Wallach said we would
find the help mother needs. We have to at least try!" Owen
was rapidly nearing tears, so he clinched his fists tightly to
keep control-

"We have no proof that those two can be counted as
friends, Owen," said Famhart evenly. "I hope so, but there
was no proof. If I could speak to them, I could find out soon
enough if they were of the right sort, but they seem to have
disappeared."

"They said they would be in the South Channels, father. I
know they would explain it all if you could talk to them."

Famhart's lieutenant bent closer and whispered into his
ear.

"It's true, Kegin! You're right as rain. That's where that
lout of a brother is hiding." Famhart slapped his gloves
viciously against his palm and began to pace. "He knew
where to find our settlement and how to be as devious and
treacherous as he always was. Time, nor a return from the
dead, has done nothing to reform him."

"Then we'll go there, father?" asked Owen. "We might
find out what sort of spell was on the brooch."

"We shall go to the South Channels, son, but not until I've
gotten help for Linne. Burnell said she is in no danger now,
just in a deep trance. He said if nothing's done, she could be

OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

this way forever. So we shall have to have her mended first
of alt, before we tend to any other matters, no matter how
pressing."

Owen was prepared to argue further, but saw the look in
his father's eye, of deep pain and an old sorrow.

"You and Darek will stay here with Kegin to learn your
proper arms, and by that time I shall be back with help.
Then we'll plan our foray into the South Channels."

Famhart went into the shelter and was gone some time.
When he returned, Owen saw his father had been weeping,
but tried hard not to show it.

"Come along, you two can help us gather the lads. I've
called a party together to set out for Red Point. Burnell says
there is a healer there who may be able to help us."

A large party stirred about their mounts in the center of
the camp, and there was all the last-minute activity that
took his father's attention away. There were orders to give,
and last-minute inspections of gear and mounts, and a dozen
other details to see to. Owen and Darek wandered among
the men, watching with envy as they prepared for their
Journey.

"We could take horses and join up without anyone know-
ing," suggested Darek. "There are so many here, they
wouldn't notice two more."

"My father would," disagreed Owen. "He already knows
how many are here, and who they are. We wouldn't make it
a mile."

"Would he be very angry?" asked Darek.

"I don't want to find out," said Owen. "My father has
always been very fair, but I have found him to be a man who
follows his word."

"Did he beat you?"

"When I deserved it," returned Owen, then laughed.
"When I remember it now, I earned all the lashings I got."

"My father never whipped me," said Darek. "I don't
think I've ever seen my father angry."

"What is your father's name, Darek?"

"Morgan Alynn," replied the lad. **He was handsome and

Kegin in Command                 61

brave, and was trying to save the settlement when he was
lost."

"What was the name of your settlement?"
"Clover Hill," answered the lad, looking away.
"Are you sure your father was slain in the fighting?
Maybe he was like you, lost in the battle, and is trying to
find you somewhere right this moment."

Darek's eyes shone, and his voice was paper thin and
fragile. "I only dare hope that it is so. I'm afraid to think of
it."

Owen gave him a brisk pat of reassurance. "You stick
with me. If we can find Gillerman and Wallach, they will be
able to help us. If your father or mother are anywhere to be
found, those will be the two who can do it."
"Did their horses really talk, Owen? Just like you or I?"
"As plainly as we're speaking now," said Owen. "I
wanted to ask them some questions, but they seemed so
serious and all, I forgot. And then the raiders came."
"I hope I can see them someday."
"You shall, Darek. We shall see them together."
"Promise me," said Darek, clutching Owen's hand.
"I promise! Stick with me, and-we shall see and do things
together that will make us heroes, Darek. We shall be in all
the tales» and everyone will know of our deeds."

"Oh, good, Owen. You make it all sound grand. We shall
do all those things and more. Owen and Darek, Riders of the
Line. Do you think there are any more of the flying snakes?
It would be good to be able to stay one of them."

Owen shook his head. "I don't think so, Darek. My
mother and father fought them once, but I think they're all
gone now." Remembering his mother, Owen turned his
steps toward the shelter where she lay. "Come on! I prom-
ised my father I'd look after her. Kegin can show us what we
need to know for now. There may be a way I can call
Gillerman and Wallach here. My sword got all full of light
and too bright to look at when Gillerman's voice came.
Maybe I can find some way to talk to him."
"Your sword?"

62 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

"Yes. It got very bright, and there was a white light that
ran all over it, and right down my arm."

Owen wasn't sure if talking about the exceptional quali-
ties of the sword was permissible, but he trusted his new
friend Darek, and knew that it was safe to speak before him.

They had reached the shelter, and found Kegin posted
guard in front-

"Your father will be here to give you his farewells,"'he
said. "They will be going out the Green Road. Do you have
anything to give him for tuck, Owen?"

The tad had completely forgotten the ancient custom, and
had to hurry to his mother's side to find the small locket she
kept there at her throat. He hastily undid it, and clasped it
gently in his hand.

"He'll be back safe, mother, and bring help as well. We
shall not rest until you're better than new."

Owen kissed her quickly on the cheek, and emerged just
as Famhart and his troop rode up. There were a hundred
bowmen with him, and the party wore the gray cloaks woven
of a fine thread that the elves had given to Famhart and
Linne as a wedding present long ago. It had the power to
make those who wore the cloth almost invisible to any but
the sharpest eye, and was said to have wonderful qualities
which would keep the wearer from hunger and fatigue for
days.

"You're in time, Kegin. Keep a stout heart, and teach my
two young wards there the meaning of respect for the
longsword and bow. I shall test them on your prowess as
teacher when I return."

"Of course, Famhart. You may count on me," Kegin said,
bowing tow to his friend. "You may be surprised, for your
son could well outdo you!"

"Ever the rogue, Kegin. Since you bested me once at
archery, I have not heard an end of it."

Famhart grasped his friend in a tight bear hug, and went
alone into the shelter for a last good-bye to his wife. His
party waited nervously, eager to be off, with their mounts
stamping and edging about, and Owen smelted the excite-
ment in the air. The sunlight looked brighter and more

Kegin in Command                 63

golden than it had in a long, dreary time, and the men were
dashing and young, their eager faces boyish and carefree.
They called back and forth to one another as if they were on
a lark with nothing more than a picnic to look forward to at
the end.

Kegin strode over to a youth who rode a tall white horse
with a black mane. "You lads mind yourselves! You're not
off on a ride through the woods today. Famhart wilt regret
this, 1 fear, leaving behind all his old guard, and taking you
whelps to season you."

"Aha. Kegin! You're jealous that your students get to
prove their mettle at last, while you stay behind to stir the
soup at camp. We all get old! There's no disgrace in that.
The world is made for those who don't have joints that creak
and groan and eyes that blur. You stay home and make the
plans. Kegin! Us young bucks will carry them out!"

"Fairly said, Dorcet."

"We have earned the right," said another, mounted on a
prancing roan.

"1 never said you hadn't," replied Kegin shortly. "Just be
sure you bear up as well to our enemies as you have to your
old teacher. If it comes to that, then I'll be satisfied I've
done my job properly."

"You've done it well enough, Kegin. Most of us here can
outshoot you now. You've taught us all you know."

"No, I haven't." Kegin laughed. "I'm still breathing in
my old age, and you lads haven't survived your youth yet.
When that occurs, you'll be well seasoned, and remember
the trouble you've given me."

He laughed again, and turned away. Owen saw that the
smile was forced, and that there was a heavy sadness behind
Kegin's clear blue eyes.

"Come on, my bucks, let's you and I see your daddy off
properly. Give him the token, and we'll send our arrows out
over his head to lead them safely there and back."

The two lads helped Kegin string the stout longbows, and
he showed them how to notch the arrow and hold it with the
left hand to guide the shaft. Darek had trouble drawing the
heavy pull of his bow, so Kegin got him a smaller one, which

64 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

fit him better. Owen had difficulty as well, but he put all his
strength into it, and the great bow finally bent.

Famhart emerged from the shelter pale and unsettled, but
quickly composed himself, and took the parting gift from
Owen. Kegin handed up a stirrup cup of strong, hot mulled
ale from the fire, which Famhart touched to his lips, and
handed on to the rider next to him, who passed it on, until
each of the men had had a farewell sip.

With another nod of his head, Famhart undid the horn
from beneath his cloak, and blew two short notes, followed
by a longer, higher call, pure and sweet, that set the birds in
the wood into song.

All in a rush the horsemen sprang forward, and the air
resounded with their hoofbeats, and the chink and jingle of
the harness of horse and rider, metal and leather.

At the signal, Kegin raised his bow to let fly a flashing red
shaft with green feathers, then Darek let fly his, and last was
Owen's; his shot flew higher and further than the others, and
as the shaft arched into the high sunlight above the trees, a
tiny rainbow burst into view, glittering and falling away into
the woods below like broken starlight.
"Well shot!" cried Kegin, marveling at the sight.
"It was a sign from my friends," said Owen, amazed at
himself. "Look! Below the shaft! It's the South Channels."

Kegin followed his pointing hand, and there framed by
the eaves of the forest, showing clearly in the sky beyond the
camp, were the glittering white domes of the distant moun-
tains called the South Channels.

Kegin turned back to speak to Owen, but the tad had gone
inside the shelter to be beside Linne. His mother was the
only one who had believed in Gillerman and Wallach, and
he felt that it would be through her that he would get his
answers as to what to do-
There was a faint ebbing glow of light from the sword at
his side, and Owen removed it and placed it down next to the
silent form of Linne. Burnell looked in for a moment, but
left quietly when he saw the boy. The sword gathered more
light, and a soft hum began, low and vibrating the ground
where it lay. Owen tried to pick the blade up, for fear it

Kegin in Command                 65

would disturb his mother, but it was hot to the touch and
throbbing.

"Is that you, Gillerman?" breathed Owen. "I don't know
how to turn this thing off."

There was no answer, but the light grew brighter, with
flashing golden beams that pulsed across the shadows in the
darkened shelter.

Darek came in at that moment, and the lights and motion
faded quickly away.

"What was all that?" he asked, looking about, and blink-
ing in the sudden gloom of the shelter.

"I think my sword has tried to contact me, but it quit. I
have a feeling it's Gillerman."

"Oh, good," said Darek. "I want to see it."

Owen looked at his friend evenly. "It stopped when you
came in. Maybe it only works when I'm here with it alone."

"Then I'll go away and let you try again," said Darek,
trying not to sound rejected.

"It's nothing against you, Darek, it just never seems to
work except when I am alone. It worked when my mother
was there, though."

"I'll go out and you see if it works again," said his friend,
rising to go. "Then you'll tell me-about it, all right?"

"All right. We'll see what happens. Tell Kegin to wait
outside, too.""

The younger lad left, and Owen put the sword at his
mother's side again, waiting. He turned it this way and that,
and called out to Gillerman and Wallach, but the blade
remained silent and cold.

After a long time of trying, Owen finally gave up and lay
down exhausted to rest, and in doing so he noticed a shadow
near the wall of the shelter where he had tried to work the
spell of the sword. It wasn't moving, and Owen felt it had
been there for a long while, which perhaps was why the
sword had shown no sign of life.

As quietly as he could, Owen stole to the front of the
shelter and peered outside, but there was no one anywhere
near, except Kegin and Darek, sitting beside the watchfire
making tea.

The Line Stewards

Four heavily armed riders watched as the river of refugees
flooded past, their flocks and livestock herded before them.
The people rode or walked, and, if they had anything left
from the raiders' attacks, they carried their belongings on
their backs or in wagons, their faces drawn and gaunt. The
women and children were carried in the carts whenever it
was possible, along with the wounded, but the roads, where
there were roads, were sometimes dangerous and impassa-
ble, and all those who could were forced to walk over the
treacherous spots. These were people who were fleeing from
the older settlements above Swan Haven, which had been
called Olson's Well, before the raiders came, but all the
settlement that had not been slain was driven out, and
forced to flee for their lives. On the main highways such as
the Green Road, the crowds began to gather together for
protection, and there were some tearful reunions among
those there. As the four riders looked on at the spectacle
from a slight rise above the road, one of the men pointed and
spoke.

"Look, Chellin! I believe it's Gruning and the Brothers!
We haven't clapped our blinkers to their ugly hides in a long
season or two."

The man addressed as Chellin was clad in a brown cloak
that draped him from head to toe, and covered most of his
horse's neck and rump as well. He had a bushy brown beard

66

The Line Stewards                  67

flecked with gray, and sensitive blue eyes that sparkled with
a ready humor and a great experience at travel and war.

"Holla, good ruffians!" called Chellin Duchin, "Come out
of the road here and give us the news! Are you removing all
of Lake Fork today?"

"Hail, Chellin! Good speed, Jeremy! I don't believe I have
the honor of knowing the mugs of these other two."

"Hamlin and Judge, at your service," replied Chellin.
"They have only been with me these past months. They
never came up as far as Lake Fork or Olson's Well before."

"No Lake Fork or Olson's Well left," growled a gruff,
aging man, dressed as Chellin, and as heavily armed. His
' duplicate sat beside him on a horse that matched.

"The Brothers speak the sad fact of the matter," said
Gruning. "We saw the great hall torched and the millhouse
sacked, and we were lucky to get off with the flocks or herds
from the upper pastures. The whole forest was swarming
with this new breed of trash we've been seeing of late."

"I thought they were random bandits from the Tybo
campaign, but I've changed my tune now," replied Chellin,
dismounting and stretching his limbs from the long hours in
the saddle. He sat then, and took off a boot to search for a
stone.

"What I think we're dealing with here is something
everyone said wouldn't happen, and that is that these fellows
have found a leader who has organized them, and has begun
to make war on all of us in earnest."

"Why not?" grumbled the twin called Port. "There's
nothing to stop the ransacking of any one of the settlements
along our entire border. It's been so long since half these
folks had to do anything except mind their farm or flock or
fish, that they hardly know the answer to a threat of force is
to arm and repel it."

He looked to his brother as he spoke, and they both
nodded agreement many times, and kept muttering "well
said," until Chellin raised a hand to quiet them.

"I hear your words. Port. We've grown old in the duty of
border steward, and we know the worst of almost any
situation that comes along. We've given up home and family

68 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

long ago to pursue our duty as we see it, and it's easy for us
to watch what's been happening. Yet I haven't felt this
uneasy in a long time! Look at that." He waved an arm at
the throng of people passing by in a seemingly endless line,

"They are from settlements as far away as the Great
Bend, and alt have the same tale to tell, of armed raiders
coming in greater numbers out of the South Channels, and
fire and destruction. I've called up every reserve I can count
on, but we haven't confronted any of these lads from the
other side yet. We get rumors and see a slain raider now and
again, but we've got nothng solid to go on. We don't know
who we're realty up against, and as long as everyone keeps
striking their colors and high-tailing it further from the
trouble, we'll keep on seeing exactly what we have here."

"Confusion and terror! That's the way of it," agreed
Gruning. "The old stewards have done their job well all
these years, and then when we're finally called on to deliver,
they desert us cold and take a hike. There's not much we can
do without cooperation from the citizenry."

"Why don't you and your bunch join us when we camp
tonight," suggested Chellin. "1 think we need to put our
noggins to the task of trying to find some sort of plan for all
this. Uncharted waters are risky business."

"I see your point, Chellin. The Brothers and I will round
up the scoundrels that are with our lot, and we'll lock up
with your lads tonight. Shall we signal, or do you have a spot
in mind?"

"I think about as far as these folks can make it by dark is
the old ford by Ten Elms. We'll see you there!"

"Ten Elms it is then. Keep a weather eye!'*

Gruning reined his mount about and cantered off to rejoin
another armed party on the far side of the long line of the
procession that had been filing by as they talked. The twin
brothers. Port and Starboard, lifted their hands in salute,
and were gone as well.

"Those two are a pair," Jeremy laughed. "I have known
them for as long as 1 can remember, and I don't think I've
ever seen them any farther apart than a bow shot."

"Their mother was one of the Moon Children of Trew,"

The Line Stewards                  69

said Chetlin. "I've never met any of them but her, but that
was enough to chill my bones. They never speak plainly
about anything, and they only prepare meals after dark. She
lived in a deserted settlement near the Darien Mounds until
her husband died, and then she brought the two boys to
North Brook to give them to a family there. I think she
disappeared with her husband's body, and no one saw her
again. It must have done something to the lads, because as
you say, Jeremy, they haven't been far apart from each
other since then."

"What a strange tale," mused Hamlin. "I thought almost
everyone in these coastal settlements had become fairly
tame, but I can see I overlooked a few."

"They're tame enough along the coast, lad," replied Chel-
lin. "The ones who still cling to the old ways and the
outlawed rituals mostly live out their lives a little nearer the
old border counties, that run beside the old boundaries."

"Do you think all this is something more than an uprising
in the South Channels?" asked Judge, who was the youngest
of the companions.

"I don't know," answered Chellin. "I've been at this game
long enough to be a fair thinker on these matters, but I don't
quite know what to make of all this latest business. There
were the usual raiders that have found their way to us, and
think they'll have easy pickings, but they are easy enough to
frighten off, once they get the idea that we have patrols that
serve the settlements."

"That wouldn't account for all these folk," said Hamlin.
"This is something I've never seen before. It's enough to set
off our worst doubts about being able to contain that pes-
tilence that's pouring out of the mountains now."

"We are going to have to find a way to scout them out,"
said Chellin, stroking his beard thoughtfully, then
remounting quickly.

"I'm not sure how we shall go about it yet, but that is a
plan we shall have to perfect if we're to continue to be
effective here.'*

"We shall have to be quick about it, Chellin. Look at the

70 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

numbers on the road here! If this keeps up much longer, the
Line will be nothing more than a deserted land."

"The Line shall never be deserted," said Chellin grimly.
"Not while Chellin Duchin draws breath. These hills and
woods have been my home since I was a tyke, and no upstart
renegades from the South Channels shall drive me away,"

**1 hope you're right," said Jeremy. "I have no heart fior a
move, but I can't see staying in an overrun land to be
captured by the likes of these lads we've had the privilege of
running into. They're a nasty lot."

"Only because they don't seem to have any center," said
Chellin. "I don't know what's gotten into them up there.
You'd think the air was too thin to support good thinking."

"They don't seem to have any love for anything except
killing," agreed Judge. "It's strange to fight someone who
looks so much like one of us, yet there's something missing
from their thinking. I've seen them destroy shelters and
crops and slay innocents as though they were having a cup
of mulled ale after their supper. It chills me to my marrow
to think about them coming in any great numbers. There
aren*t enough good men from the Line to stand up to a
crowd like that, especially if they're organized and ready to
fight."

"That's why we've been at our posts all these years,
Judge. I tried to tell you about all this when you came to us
to join our ranks. I knew your mother didn't want you to
throw your life away on what she considered a useless folly.
She wasn't alone in that way of thought, either. Until all
this began again, there were meetings of settlement councils
called to stop our wages, and calls to disband the stewards."

"It's a wise thing they didn't," said Hamlin, "or we would
all be in the soup by now. If it hadn't been for the Line
Stewards, there wouldn't be any place of safety left any-
where on this side of the Roaring."

"That may be carrying it a bit far, but we would be in a
deal of trouble if we hadn't had a reserve ready to tap these
past few days. If we can regroup tonight and tomorrow and
call in all our inactives that are with the citizens on the road

The Line Stewards                   71

there, we may just have a chance to reshape our borders,
and clear this rabble out."

"Who were you thinking of sending as scout into the
South Channels?" asked Judge. "Are there any in our camp
who know the area well enough to risk going there alone?"

"I have no thoughts as to who would go," replied Chellin.
"We'll find out tonight if there is anyone among our lot who
has a knowledge of the area."

"Famhart of Sweet Rock has spent time there, I hear,"
offered Hamlin. "He and his lady were with the Keepers at
the Middle Islands. He would know the area as well as
anyone."

"Aye, Famhart, the Rod of Truth. He is well known in all
the settlements of the Line. We shall see if he is with us
tonight, and if he would be willing to make such a journey."

The four men had rejoined the flowing column of human-
ity, and paced themselves at a slow walk on the right flank
of the march. The wood had thinned until a large meadow
surrounded them on all sides. A shallow lake at its center
reflected back the bright blue late afternoon sky.

"This looks as though it must have been settled once,"
said Judge. "What a perfect place for dwellings."

"Bugs," replied Hamlin curtly. "Plenty of bugs, and too
much humidity."

"But there are ways past all that," went on Judge, ignor-
ing his friend's remarks.

"It was settled once," confirmed Chellin. "In my youth,
there was a thriving community here, but it disappeared at
the Celebration of the Crown of Winter somewhere along
the way. I can't remember what year it was, but it was cold
and bitter. No one ever heard anything more of the souls
who lived here."

"Where are the dwellings? I can't see anything man-
made here."

"You wouldn't," said Chellin. "These were people from a
long line that went all the way back to the waterfolk. They
built their shelters so cleverly you wouldn't be able to see
them at all until you were right on them."

72 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

"Who were the waterfolk?" asked Judge, studying the
terrain carefully.

"There are two ways of thinking on that," replied Chellin.
"There were the waterfolk from the old folklore, the elfin
clans that used to roam these parts. I don't know whether
you believe in that sort of thing or not anymore. Times have
changed, it seems. The others were the Boghatians, w^ere
Famhart comes from. An old line long since forgotten, I
dare say, just like the elves. The Boghatians weren't so
lovable toward the end, but they started as a high-blooded
lot. I don't know what happened to them. I think they began
to believe all the things folks had said about how wise they
were, and how advanced their thinking was. That always
seems to bring about a fall as quickly as walking a log with
moss on its back."

"There doesn't seem to be anything left about to show for
alt their wisdom and hard work," persisted Judge.

"Come on, then," said Chellin, turning his horse aside
and striking out for the small lake, which was not a great
distance from the roadway.

The younger man followed his leader until they were at
the edge of the lake, where something caught Chellin's eye,
and he dismounted hurriedly and knelt down in the churned
mire of the lakeshore.

"What is it, Chellin? What have you found?"

"Trouble, by the looks of it," growled the older man.
"Trouble plagues this poor, ghost-ridden hole, it seems, and
nothing has happened to change that even after all these
years."

Judge dismounted and knelt in the mire next to his
commander.

"What signs do you read in this muck, Chellin? I can see
nothing but the mud we've churned up here with our
horses."

"You've always been blind as a bat to the obvious, you
thick-headed whelp. May the High King have mercy on our
poor lost souls if we ever come to depend on your quickness
to detect an enemy among us, or to seek a friend's advice.
Look!" Chellin held up a small clump of what appeared to

The Line Stewards

73

be water reeds woven together. "This is the work of some
lads I haven't heard tell of in a season or two. I would have
thought they would have been long gone."

"That?" asked Judge. "That's only some reeds!"

"Look, dunderhead! See the woven work here, and here?
The fellows who did this were here not so long ago, and were
disturbed before they finished."

Chellin stooped and began searching all about the area,
pulling aside rush and water lily, and ploughing the wet
earth with his ungloved hand,

"Finished what?"

"That's what I intend to find out, my buck. Come along
here and help! No, better yet, you mount up and go fetch
Hamlin. 1 don't want you tromping around here with those
clumsy feet of yours."

Judge withdrew in hurt silence.

Chellin scooped up handfuls of mud and water, sifting it
carefully through his hand, and knelt for a long time beside
a large lily pad that caught and held his interest. When
Judge returned with Hamlin, Chellin had shed his cloak and
mail shirt, and stripped to the waist, he waded into the lake
to a distance where the water was almost over his shoulders.

"Have you tost your senses, Cheltin?" shouted Hamlin,
raising himself in his saddle as he did so. "You can't swim!"

The older man made no reply, but went on a few paces
farther, then suddenly disappeared beneath the placid sur-
face of the lake.

"Quickly! Quickly, here, Judge, hold my horse! The old
man has drowned himself!" Hamlin leaped from his mount
and threw off his clothing as he went, already waist deep in
water. "Fetch a rope if you can!" he shouted over his
shoulder, laying forward and beginning a slow and methodic
crawling stroke toward the spot where Chellin had
disappeared.

He had gone no more than a few feet when Chellin's head
broke the surface, and he began to struggle toward shore,
pulling something along behind him.

"Chellin! Are you all right?"

"Here, lad, help me!"

74 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

Hamlin felt as though his limbs were moving in slow
motion as he struggled to reach his leader, but he was at last
beside him, reaching for the object that Chelhn was pulling
from the secret recesses of the small tarn.

The Edges of Trew

The settlement was small, nestled against the high banks of
the creek that ran through the open eave of the wood and
across the clearing, to disappear again in the deep gloom of
the forest beyond. Looking for any sign of life here was
confusing, for the dwellings were out of sight, almost half
submerged by the water at floodtide in the spring. It was
difficult to pick out the shelters from the water's edge, and
the rider who reined in his mount to survey the scene did not
immediately see the four figures standing beneath the
shadow of the larger trees at the edge of the clearing.

"This is the heart of Trew, outsider! What want you
here?"

The mounted man was startled badly at first, and had
difficulty picking out who spoke to him.

"My name is Argent Largo. I am no enemy to any who
dwell here."

"Trew has only enemies. It is spoken by the Lord Trew
himself. We have no friends from beyond our hearthfires."

"May my horse drink from your stream? We have come a
long way today."

"We deny water to no one, man or animal. Drink your fill,
and then we shall hear what your tale is. If it suits, we shall
see you to the Edges."

"The what?" asked the rider. He could make out nothing

The Edges of Trew                   75

but dark shapes on the border of the wood, and couldn't
decide which of the men was speaking.

"The Edges! The ends of Trew."

"What is this riddle you speak of? I am a stranger to
these parts."

"Trew! You are within the Edges of Trew! And you must
be on your way quickly, if it is true what you have said about
not knowing where you are. Strangers are dealt with harshly
here."

"Argent Largo is no knave that you escort to your bor-
ders. I would speak to your king!"

"You cannot have audience with Lord Trew. He is beyond
the world's end at the moment, and will not return for a time
beyond count."

"Are you daft, man? What game do you play me? Speak
plainly, so that I may understand you!"

"I speak as plainly as the smallest child, stranger. You
cannot have audience with Lord Trew."

"But you might speak with the Lady, if you wish it,"
added a second voice, softer and less strident.

"The Lady of Trew sometimes holds converse with out-
landers. You might speak with her if you'll follow us to her
court."

"Then by all means, let us go to seek this Lady," insisted
the man. "I would make more of this puzzle than your
confused tongues tell me."

"This is Trew, sir. The Lord is away and shall count the
nine north stars and seek the wilds of black meadows at the
back of the moon, but he won't talk of it to strangers."

"That he won't," concluded the softer voice, "but his wife
speaks in plainer speech than most, and she might tell you of
where you travel, and why the road has been so harsh to
your fortunes."

"Harsh enough, my simple friend. There are things I have
endured that would turn your blood to ice. I am seeking to
find a way to avenge myself on those who have wronged
me."

"The Wastelands will take the bitterness from your heart,
stranger. Stay but a time, and you'll find that the crudest

76 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

cut of all will be but a small pain. The Lady of Trew can
help you forget your worst fears, and bring you peace."

"I have no need of such medicine, yet I might have news
of such neighbors as you have hereabouts, or enlist your
arms to my cause, which is just, and cries out for
vengeance."

"There are no arms borne in Trew, my good cousin. They
were outlawed long ago, before the Lord left- He hated the
thought of senseless killing and war."

The man had fallen in beside the four strange humans,
and rode slowly by their side while they talked. Each of the
four wore long hoods that covered their features, and had
silver belts that circled their waists in a series of links, each
finely carved and wound together in an intricate fashion.
The cloaks were a dark greenish black, and smelled slightly
of flowers.

"How long shall we be in reaching this Lady you speak
of?" asked the man, reining in his mount.

"Not long, by our reckoning. A year perhaps, or three,"
replied the first figure, who seemed to be the spokesman for
the group.

"A year! You jest, surely?" snapped the man. "There is
no trip so far as to take that long."

"Not if we travel but to a place on this plane, brother.
Our journey is of a different nature. The realms we seek are
far beyond the reach of your noble animal there, or the
stretch of mind that believes we live in a box of time."

"I begin to think I have fallen in with fools," said the
man, pulling up suddenly and dismounting.

"Show yourselves to me at once! What sort of oaf do you
take me for that you should speak in such witless banter as
this?"

"We shall show ourselves to you soon enough, wise one. It
is against the Code to remove our cloaks while we yet stand
in the open fields of these lower planes."

"Do you expect me to believe any of this? I begin to doubt
that there is a Lord or Lady at all- Farewell, poor fools. I
shall find my own way back from here."

"Oh, you can't find your way back to where we were, good

The Edges of Trew                   77

soldier. There was no way to warn you that you had crossed
the Edges of Trew. Once here, you shall have to join us, I
fear, until we can guide you back to the outside. And even
then, there may be no way back for you now."

"Unless the Lady wills it," added the second, softer voice,
which the stranger now recognized as that of a woman.

"You'll carry this jest too far, I warn you. All I ask is the
way to Darien Mounds. I seek one there who has been
pledged to help me."

A soft laugh filled the air.

"You wish to find your road to the place of alt places that
we despise the most, oh traveler. Those are parts that are
loathed above all others in Trew."

"Why, good lady?" asked the stranger. "I have never
heard ill spoken of the place."

"It may be true that you have never heard ill spoken of
those death mounds, but I tell you for truth that the place is
a bane to all things living. No one ever returns from there.
and there are new and terrible tales we have heard about
that ghastly place. Be wise, and stay here with us, pilgrim.
We shall make you one of us, who shall one day join our
Lord on his journey to the forgotten backyards of the stars.
It is safe there."

"I'm sure it is, my good lady, but I have other pressing
business that I must attend to before I depart this world."

The stanger turned his horse so suddenly that he almost
trampled the two closest to him, and without a word of
farewell, spurred his mount into a gallop.

"Come back! Stop! You are going the wrong way!" cried
the four cloaked forms, waving their arms and shouting in a
vain attempt to call the man back,

"Come back, indeed," snorted the rider to himself. "I'm
lucky to have escaped those fools, if fools they are. I have no
time to be wandering about with dolts such as those. I am
lucky to be rid of them."

He rode faster as he spoke, needing to confirm his own
wits, and to help him calm his spirit after the strange
encounter.

Dealing with the four had disturbed him greatly, and he

78 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

was reminded of his own narrow escape from the hands of
the band who had held him captive after he survived the
terrible time of the Purge, when the dragons of doom were
abroad.

"It has not been easy," he went on aloud, addressing only
his horse. "They thought they had turned me around, but I
showed them, just like I shall show that blasted, accursed
sister of mine. She shall not escape, or elude me much
longer. And that miserable husband of hers shall wish he
had never seen the day that he met one so marked for
misery."

He laughed aloud, a harsh, cruel laugh that held no
humor, and he urged his horse on to an even greater pace.

"Argent Largo has been born again, and he shall find all
those who betrayed him, and the day will come when his
banner shall fly over the finest of all settlements on the
Roaring Sea, and all will come to him to pay him their
respects and vow him service."

He laughed again, and spurred his horse unmercifully, his
riding cloak flying out behind him as he plunged headlong
down the faint path through the trees. Faster and faster he
sped, until at last he had ridden away the horrible burden
that burned his heart and caused his teeth to gnash in mad
fury.

As he slowed to a walk he noticed his surroundings again,
' and pulled his mount up short in front of an odd-shaped
structure, which looked almost as though it had been fash-
ioned by one of the woodland animals, except for the
entrance, which was tall and framed by a door that was
obviously man-made.

"Holla," cried Largo. "Is there anyone abroad? I need
water for my horse, and food for the stomach of a hungry
traveler."

There was no immediate reply, so Largo dismounted to
examine the crude structure.

There were windows of a rough sort, with broken glass
and no curtains, but the stone chimney showed signs of a
recent fire, for there was still a thin, almost invisible trail of
smoke rising into the unmoving air.

The Edges of Trew                   79

A strange sensation crept over Largo, and he felt his
hackles crawl, as though he were being observed by unseen
eyes.

He cautiously retraced his steps to his horse, and eased
his longsword out of its sheath.

"That won't be necessary, my bold one," came a cackle.
"You'd have a time using that thing on me."

Largo whirled, brandishing his weapon before him, but
search as he might, he could see no living thing anywhere
about.

"Heh-heh-heh," came the cackle again, maddeningly
close to him, but still there was no one there to see. "Fve
come like a nighthawk to pluck out your eyes, oh mighty
one, and serve up your gizzard in a stew."

Largo whirled about, slashing at the air viciously.

"See, my dears, he's no gentleman! Look at him there,
swinging away as though he'd hack poor Letta's head off."

"Who are you? What do you want of me?" asked Largo,
trying to locate the voice that spoke, in hopes of striking a
blow by following the sound to its source.

"You are speaking to Letta, my poor dearie. No one much
ever notices, because when I get ^through, they don't have
that much interest, heh-heh. I've been low of gizzards and
bonemeal for a time now, but I can say that that's all over
now, thanks to you, my boldness."

The cackle came from a spot nearer to him, and Largo
lunged suddenly, sweeping the blade in a large arc before
him.

"You'll tire yourself out that way, my sauce. There's
nothing of Letta that you can hurt with that pin. No, no,
sweetness, it would take a deal more than that to harm
Letta."

Largo flashed about wildly, left and right, dealing the air
dreadful blows.

The cackling laughter grew in pitch until Largo's ears
were ringing with the mockery of it.

"I shall call the Dark One down upon you for this," cried
Largo desperately, stopping to catch his breath and look

80 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

about him. "You shall pay dearly for interfering with her
messenger."

"Dark One, my sassy? You don't know a Dark One until
you've met Letta. She is the only power here that commands
respect of all things furred or feathered or skinned,"

A long cackle rent the air, then the invisible voice went
on, but from a different location.

"You shall find my hospitality very warm, my pudding. I
haven't had such a nice visitor for dinner in ever so long."

Another shriek of laughter set Largo at his futile attack
again, slashing and swearing about in all directions.

"Here, here, that's enough of that, I think," came the
voice- "I shall not have you working off an ounce of that
lovely fat."

Largo found himself tangled in a web of sticky bonds that
dropped over his head like a net, and struggle as he might to
cut himself free, he was soon weighted down by an irresisti-
ble pressure that forced him relentlessly to the ground.

"Enough, whoever you are! I have power to bargain with
you. You'll be making a terrible mistake if you kill me
before I can tell you who 1 am."

"A dreadful mistake, my pumpkin? What a shame it
would be if I can't roast you after all. 1 don't think I shall
listen to you, my plumpness, because I might find some
nasty fact or other that would make me spare you! Then
where would I be?"

"Wiser, madam, much wiser. I assure you I can make it
worth your while to hear me out!"

Largo kept his voice under control with an effort,
although his heart was hammering wildiy beneath his tunic.

He tried to reach into his cloak to grasp the necklace he
wore, made of the scale of one of the great flying snakes that
had carried him across the borders of death and back again,
but his arm was wedged so closely to his body that he
couldn't move it enough to grasp what he sought. He knew it
was his only hope now, and the thought of being done out of
his revenge on all those he hated gave him a strength not his
own, and he strained and struggled to take hold of the object
at his neck.

The Edges of Trew

81

"I shall give you a surprise if you release me, madam- A
special gift that not many in the world can claim. Or permit
me to see your beauty, so that I may at least know the face
of Letta."

"Letta has many faces, my dumpling, but none I think
would please you. I have ruled these tombs at Darien
Mounds since the end of the War of the Flying Death. They
left me all I could wish here, but the crops of humans that I
fancy so have started to wither away now. You're the first
bit of tender meat that I've seen in a spell. 1 was beginning
to think I might have to move to more hospitable
surroundings."

"I know of places where you might have all the pleasure
you could wish, Letta. Settlements full of fattened humans
that would whet your appetite and keep you full for years."

Largo knew it was a desperate gamble, but the reference
the unseen Letta made to the Flying Death could only mean
she spoke of the great snakes, and might be persuaded to
listen to him, if only he could get to the necklace he wore.
The Dark One herself had bestowed it on him, in exchange
for his promise to seek revenge on all those who had opposed
her. She had returned him to life, and set him on the trail of
a vengeance so sweet he hardly remembered the cost, or the
deeper feelings he had once had,

"The Dark One would give you more powers than you
have already, Letta, and help you to find a harvest that you
could enjoy for a long, long time."

The laugh came again, but after a short pause, so Largo
persisted,

"If you'll free me, Letta, I'll show you a sign that would
prove to you that I speak the truth."

"What sign could you show Letta? You tempt me, my
sumptions tart."

"Free me so that I can show you."

"I think I shall, but you won't see me, my crafty one. You
just show me what you have."

As Letta's voice trailed away. Largo felt a slight release
of the pressure of the unseen bonds that crushed him to the

82 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

ground. As soon as he was able, he withdrew his hand from
the sticky ropes and grasped the pendant securely.

"This is what I would show you, Letta." cried Largo, and
he clutched the dragon scale and held it out before him,
uttering the words that would call up the sleeping fire it
held.

There was a hush, and then a faint sound was heard,
much like the distant roar of a thuderstorm, and a hot blast
of air spun round the hand that held the necklace.

"It is the dragon's hide, Letta! It can scorch your eyes out,
even if I can't see to strike you myself. You should have
listened to me at first. We could make powerful allies."

The scale of the dragon had begun to glow and emit
harsh, screeching sounds, as though a huge iron grate had
been moved across the face of heaven, and the heat began to
be unbearable. There was a cloud over the sun, and a putrid
aroma of burnt flesh filled the air, but still Largo held the
pendant aloft before him.

"Stop your show, you bold thing. I recognize what you
hold, curse the luck. I can't go about butchering those that
are marked by that sign."

As she spoke, the one called Letta removed her spells and
appeared before Largo, sitting beside her crude porch step
at her shelter.

"Now you've spoiled my fun and my dinner! I hope you're
happy."

The woman was slight of build, and wore a black cloak
that covered her from head to foot, and although Largo
could not see her face, he could feel her eyes peering out at
him.

"We shall be good allies, you and 1.1 have so many good
victims that I can hardly wait to introduce you. You won't
regret this.'*

"I hope I shall not. I have a great hunger just now. I
haven't fed for too long a time. My powers grow weaker,
and I need food."

"Then we shall conduct our business quickly, and I can
show you a morsel to whet your appetite, and they are not
far from here."

The Edges of Trew                   83

Letta's body shivered with eagerness.

"I won't eat the flesh of your animal. It must be pure!"

"Look! See, Letta, I have brought them here for you!"

Largo pointed back down the path toward the four
cloaked figures he had seen out of the corner of his eye, and
who were hurrying along toward them, motioning with wild
gestures and calling out something that he could not make
out.

Largo was shoved backward by a violent explosion of a
dirty yellow flame, and his flesh stung with a terrible wind
that blinded him momentarily.

"You bungling, wretched fool! You have set them on us
all. You don't know what harm you've done! Flee! Run for
your life!"

The voice trailed off to a long wail, then was gone.

Largo recovered himself quickly, and put away the pen-
dant beneath his cloak-

"You were warned, friend! We tried to catch you to keep
you from this. These woods are full of those beasts. They are
the last of the Rogens, the eaters of flesh."

"Why did you run away from us, pilgrim? We only tried
to help," said the woman, who pulled back the cowl of her
cape, revealing to Largo a beautiful, dark-haired woman of
slender build-

"Why didn't you speak to me of the truth," returned
Largo, "instead of telling me tales of lords who travel to the
stars, and all the other nonsense you told me?"

"It was not nonsense, and we would have told you every-
thing if you had been a bit more long-handed on patience."

"We shall have to do the rituals to return the Rogen to her
mound, Elita. We have no choice now."

"Yes, Cham. You and Shal do what you must. I will take
our visitor to see our Lady. He has much to explain of
himself."

Largo bowed low to the beautiful stranger, and tried to
conceal the confusion and bitterness he felt at being caught
up again by the mysterious beings. They somehow made
him feel more ill at ease than had Letta, the Rogen, whoever
or whatever the Rogen were.

84 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

And it angered him to think he had been robbed of a
vessel of vengeance that he might have used against his
sworn enemies.

Largo smiled and bowed again, presenting his best inno-
cent face, and kissing the hand of the one they called Elita.

The Arrival of a Minstrel

A soft harp played a haunting refrain that lingered in the
night for a long time after the musician had laid his instru-
ment aside, and the silence that followed was deeper and
more profound because of the sweetness of the memory of
the song.

Owen roused himself at last, and looked across the fire at
the man who had played, now silent and watching the merry
blaze before them. He was dressed in the clothes all musi-
cians wore, a red tunic and green vest, with striped blue and
gold trousers and red knee boots.

"How did you learn to play so well, my friend?" asked
Kegin, coming out of the trancelike dream he had fallen into
as he listened to the man's deft skills on his instrument.

"You could learn as well, if you wished," returned the
man, pouring himself another mug of the strong tea that
brewed on the firedog.

"Not that well," laughed Kegin. "That tune reminds me
of something, but I can't quite lay my hand to it."

"Me, too," added Owen. "My mother used to sing a song
to me when I was small that sounded something like it. She
always said it was something taught to her when she was in
the Middle Islands."

A memory had jogged itself in Owen's mind as he spoke,
of a certain evening somewhere lost back in the dimness of

The Arrival of a Minstrel               85

his childhood. It was an evening similar to the one that had
fallen about him where he sat with Kegin and Darek, and
the others of the settlement who had stayed behind to await
the return of Famhart.

"It might well have been played there, young man, for it
comes from a line of folk who were there at that battle."

"Who were they?" asked Darek.

"The dreamers," replied the man, a minstrel known only
as Emerald.

"The dreamers?" repeated Owen.

"The ones who came from the morning, and who have all
gone back to the sunset," the man went on. He picked up his
harp again and began another haunting melody that
brought tears to Owen's eyes.

"Stop, friend," protested Kegin. "You break my heart
with your songs."

The man played on, seemingly not to hear the interrup-
tion, and soon accompanied his instrument with his voice:

"Down six long rivers and six long hills
I've searched for my lost bride of nights gone by,
But she's gone forever to the Hills of Trew,
And never will be at my stde,
No, she shall never be at my side."

"Are those the Hills of Trew that we know?" asked
Owen, when the man had finished his song and fallen silent.

"The same, young friend. That was a song given to me by
a traveler once, when we were holed up to wait out a winter
in the Mountains of Skye."

"Great Havens of Weir, you mean you've been in those
parts, friend?" asked Kegin, wide-eyed.

"More than once," returned Emerald. "When you travel
as I do, no one pays you much mind. I've run onto some
nasty customers from time to time, but it's known to be the
worst of luck to bother anyone in my line. We seem to be
protected that way."

"How long have you been doing this?" asked Darek. "Is it
something you learned, like I wilt learn my craft of arms?"

86 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

"Exactly," replied Emerald. "There were sixteen brothers
in my family, and I was the youngest. By the time I came of
age to apprentice to a craft, there was no place in my village
that had a need of me, so I was sent away with an old man
who came one winter to see if he could stop the calves in our
herds from dying. They mostly all lived, and as a gift to the
man, my father gave him my service until I should come of
age."

"How could your father do that?" asked Owen. "He had
no way of knowing whether the man was honest or not!"

"Oh, you would have known if you'd ever met him. There
was no way to think my master was anything other than
honest." Emerald laughed. "No, you wouldn't think it, if
ever you spent more than a passing moment in his
presence."

"What name did he go by?" asked Kegin. "Perhaps we
have heard of him. Sometimes minstrels come through to
entertain us, and spin us yarns of faraway places."

"I doubt my master ever reached these parts, kind sir, but
he went in those days by the name of Gillerman."

The minstrel watched their faces closely, although noth-
ing could be read in his eyes. Owen bolted up from where he
sat. "Gillerman and Wallach! They have horses that talk
and they were here! My father wouldn't listen when I told
him they would help us, but we would have to go to the
South Channels to find them."

"Whoa, whoa," said Kegin. "Slow down, old fellow. One
thing at a time. Now what's this about Gillerman and
Wallach?"

"You amaze me to say that my master has been here,"
said Emerald. "I have not heard word of him for more
seasons than I care to count."

"He and his friend Wallach reached us the very night that
Sweet Rock was attacked. The men there put them in the
root cellar because they thought they were with the raid-
ers." said Owen. "Bristlebeard said they were enemies."

"Bristlebeard tends to be on the thick-headed side, but I
don't think he's bad at heart," offered Kegin. "I've known

The Arrival of a Minstrel                 87

him for a long time< and he's always been true to our lot, and
a good soldier."

"When did you say you saw my master?" asked Emerald,
his excitement showing in his eyes. "If it was not too long
past, I might be able to catch him somewhere along my
road."

He clasped his instrument and struck a chord on it.

"That would be a fine thing, indeed! ft would make my
heart as light as a sparrow."

Emerald lapsed into another song, and the tune glad-
dened all who heard, and Owen even hoped that his mother,
although she showed no signs of being aware of her sur-
roundings, could hear and feel the special music of this
minstrel.

"When was it, Owen, that your two friends escaped?"
asked Kegin. "I was on a scouting party, and only heard
about these two mystical blokes when 1 got back."

"It couldn't be more than a few days past," answered the
' lad. "Everything has gone so fast, I can hardly place events.
It seems a long time by one account, and hardly any time at
all on the other. And with my mother like she is, and my
father gone, and the settlement ruined, I can hardly keep
track of my thoughts."

Kegin patted the lad gently on the shoulder. "I know, old
fellow. Times like these are always rough to handle."

"Can you remember if he did or said anything that struck
you as unusual?" asked Emerald, leaning closer to Owen.
"Was he acting in any way upset, or like he carried a great
load about?"

Owen shook his head, trying to think of anything that was
unusual about the two men, Wallach and Gillerman. "I was
so taken with them, I hardly know how they acted, or really
anything they said. And then when 1 went outside and heard
their horses, that was the best thing of all."

Owen stoked the fire and put on another small log, trying
to recall something that Gillerman had said in the strange
dream, when they had given him the longsword.

"1 wonder," said Emerald, jumping lightly to his feet and

88 OVERLORDS OP THE CHANNELS

pacing about. "If this has begun to happen so suddenly, then
there must be more afoot than I was led to believe."

"What suspicions have you minstrel?" asked Kegin. "In
your travels, have you seen something which would help us
piece this puzzle together? First there were the raiders, then
Linne, the wife of our elder, was struck down by a sinister
blow that's left her in a death trance. What news have you
that would help us?"

"No news, good sir, that would return the fair lady to
herself. That is the realm of my master. I have seen cases
such as hers before, but it was Gillerman who tended to
them. He knows the magic from the Country of the Three
Trees, and has healed many who were given up for dead."

"See, Kegin? I told you I heard Gillerman! He spoke to
me through the sword! That's what he said, to go to the
South Channels, for a leaf from the Three Trees."

Kegin shook his head and raised a hand to motion Owen
to slow down. "What are these riddles? What means the
Three Trees? And who spoke to you through your sword?
What nonsense is that? Steel can't speak!"

"Gillerman," returned the youth. "You are as bad as
Bristlebeard. This longsword that he gave me does some-
thing when he tries to speak to me. It goes all full of light,
and starts to hum."

Kegin raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Light? What sort
of light?"

"Like a molten fire that's blue and white and gold?"
asked Emerald.

"Yes! Have you seen it?" shot Owen.

"I've seen master use that sword, or one like it. The light
ran down the blade to his arm until his whole body was
surrounded with the light, and you couldn't keep your eyes
on him anymore."

"That's it," cried Owen, relieved that someone else had
seen and believed.

"But what are the Three Trees, and what have they to do
with the South Channels?" asked Kegin, looking in confu-
sion from Emerald to Owen.

"Stearborn gave me a knife which can cut a leaf from one

The Arrival sf a Minstrel                89

of them," put in Darek. "That was what we used to cut the
poisoned brooch away from Linne's cloak."

The lad took out his prize and held it out before him as he
spoke. "Stearborn said that this was one of the few blades
there are that can take a leaf from the Three Trees."

Emerald looked closely at the youth and the small, finely
crafted object he held, "I have seen that somewhere," he
said slowly, scratching his head in an effort to remember
something that eluded him.

"Stearborn gave it to me," repeated Darek.

"Yes, whoever he may be. Yet I've seen that knife in the
hands of someone else. It was a long time ago."

"You can ask Stearborn if you like, friend. I can send for
him. I'm sure he can tell you how he came by it.'*

Kegin rose from the fire and called out to a sentry, who
quickly came and hurried away to do as he was bidden.

"So the Three Trees actually exist?" asked Kegin,
returning to his place and pouring himself another mug of
tea. He slowly stirred in a spoon of honey and put the bowl
back on the small camp table.

"Exist? I don't know if they exist or not, at least as we
think of things," said Emerald.. "but my master spoke of
them just as though they were as real as the honey you just
put in your tea."

"Truly, Emerald? And do you believe in them?"

"I do," said Owen firmly. "Gillerman said that we needed
a leaf to help my mother, and if there is a tree somewhere
that has the powers to help my mother, I shall find it."

"But there is no help at all in knowing of the Three Trees,
but not knowing which road to travel to get there," cau-
tioned Kegin. "That's why Famhart has taken the road he's
taken."

Owen looked steadily at his father's trusted friend.

"We could find Gillerman and Wallach in the South
Channels. They know the way to where we need to go- And
if we left soon, we could quite possibly be gone and back by
the time my father returns, Kegin. They gave me a chart
that I'd forgotten. Here!"

90 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

Owen unslung the gray bag that he wore, and hastily
searched for the map the ancient man had shown him.

They spread the small chart out in front of the fire, and
Kegin held a rushlamp over it so they could make out the
strange markings,

"What do you make of it. Emerald?" asked Kegin. "Does
any of it look familiar to you?"

The minstrel frowned as he studied the map, but shook
his head.

"I don't recognize any of the markings. But here, this
may be the Silver River, and there must be the Edges.
That's Silver Mist Pass, I'd wager."

Emerald put a finger on the map, pointing out what he
spoke of. "And these must be the South Channel
Mountains."

"But it shows more, further beyond the South Channels,"
said Kegin. "None of our charts went any further than the
Bitter Roots."

"Maybe that's the country of the Three Trees," said
Darek, peering over Owen's shoulder.

"And there's another sea there," added Owen. "Look!"

"What does it say?" asked Kegin.

'The Sea of Islands," replied Emerald.

"I never heard of any but the Roaring," said Kegin.

"Neither have I, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist,"
said Emerald.

Kegin laughed, and stirred up the fire- "You would enjoy
seeing me explaining to Famhart what we were doing leav-
ing against orders, eh? If you have ever tried that, you'll
know why we shall do no such thing, and that we'll wait
right here until we have word to do something different,
even if we have a map."

The tone of voice which Kegin used reminded Owen of his
father, and it seemed to draw down the curtain on any
further hope of convincing him.

"I'm interested in these trees you speak of, good minstrel,
especially if they were of any use to help Linne, but 1 don't
lay any of my gold on their existence, even with this chart,

The Arrival of a Minstrel                91

which says nothing for certain. If they exist, why haven't
others found them?"

"They have," replied Emerald. "They are sung about in a
dozen old songs, and written of in the stories we hear around
the campfire."

"Maybe I've been at the wrong fires," laughed Kegin. "I
don't recall any such stories."

"You are too much the bread-and-butter man, then,"
replied Emerald.

"Perhaps that is so. Perhaps I have never allowed myself
the luxury of daydreaming."

"I believe the stories," interrupted Owen. "I never
thought anything of them before, but now I remember my
mother once telling me about someone she' met a long time
ago. He was a tree!"

"That's nothing but a tale to put you to sleep with, Owen.
You and I know that trees can't talk, or move, or do any-
thing except grow leaves and be whatever it is that trees
are."

"She wasn't talking about a tree, exactly," explained
Emerald. "I don't really know what the word is. They are
beings, but not human or animal, or plant, or anything else.
They can change their shapes, according to the tales I've
heard, and have powers that are far beyond anything any-
one can tell of."

"I like your company, minstrel, and I think you are
amusing. That's what these tales are for, to distract and
entertain the poor folk who labor at ordinary lives day in
and day out. That's why there are minstrels. I would be
highly disappointed if you were any other way."

"Oh, Kegin, you sound like Bristlebeard! That's what he
said to Gillerman and Wallach when they were at the
meeting hall. He wouldn't believe their horses talked. He's
too thick to think things might be any other way than what
he's used to." Owen's anger was barely concealed as he
spoke, and he could feel his cheeks burning. He folded the
small chart and returned it to the gray bag Gillerman had
given him.

"You need not rile yourself, good lad," soothed Emerald.

92 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

"I am a minstrel, and see this often. I am a singer of songs,
and a spinner of yarns, that's true. My lessons have been in
other areas of life, and I know not much of how people get
on day by day, with their drab lives tied about their necks
like stones dragging them down to despair. I like to think
that there is more to it all than that. My lot isn't what you
think of as highly regarded, but I don't spend my life
looking for a reason to go on getting up in the morning."

"I meant no offense, minstrel! I am not a man who doesn't
like to think that perhaps there is more to all of this than
meets the eye, it's just that I've lived long enough to see how
matters are. The gray light of reason comes up with the
dawn every day, and I rise early enough to see it and know
it's true.'*

"There are things far beyond your logic or reason, good
citizen. Most of our lives are lived in the dark of disbelief!
We don't know how to see the truth sometimes!"

Emerald paced restlessly as he spoke, the firelight glisten-
ing in bright patterns off his shiny costume.

"Come, sing us another song, like a good fellow! Have an
ale and don't let us quarrel. We have the need of all the
cheer we can gather to ourselves in these troubled times."

The minstrel gave no answer, but took his harp into his
lap and began to play. It was a plaintive melody, full of sad
endings and soft partings, but as it went on, there was a note
of hope that entered, and as the musician finished the piece,
the hearts of all who had heard were stirred and
strengthened.

"What was that?'* asked Owen. "It seems so familiar."

"It was from the court songs of the Keepers, when they
yet dwelled below the Boundaries," answered Emerald.
"My master taught me all their songs."

"Who were they?" asked Darek. "Were they kings?'*

"Not kings, my lad, but masters. They came to help us all
in a time of need."

"My mother and father were there with them at the
Middle Islands," said Owen proudly. "They were friends of
Borim Bruinthor and Olthar Olthlinden, and the dwarf
Brandigore."

The Arrival of a Minstrel                93

Emerald held out a thin reed pipe to Owen. "This once
belonged to Olthar- It is one of his own pipes. Listen."

He placed it to his lips and blew a stow air that sounded at
first like a summer wind through willows at the water's
edge, then like bubbles bursting above a lily pond.

"If you have all these ways of traveling about good
minstrel, perhaps I should commission you to do us the
service of becoming a scout. We need all the information we
can get from all the other settlements. You said yourself you
seem to be able to travel without great fear from anyone."

"Anyone except this new breed that has begun to flow
into our world. Things seem to be changing. I'm not sure my
status as minstrel holds any water with them. Those lads in
the South Channels seem to have broken with all the old
ways."

"You need have nothing to do with them, except tell us
about where you spot them. The rest is up to our stewards to
make sure the woods and rivers remain free of the
invaders."

"It is not so simple as you think, citizen. I can tell you
that you aren't safe as you may imagine. I saw things that
have given me pause for thought. I haven't feared to travel
anywhere on the Line since I began my work, but these past
days have seen a marked change for the worst."

"Tell us. Emerald, where you saw these things! We'll send
a party to rid the woods of anyone who is an enemy of the
folk of the Line."

"Raiders aren't the worst, citizen. I have come through
settlements where the talk has been more frightening than
meeting unfriendly troops in the wildest part of the woods."

"What do you speak of, friend?" asked Kegin. "Even for
a minstrel, you begin to sound more and more like a mystic,
or a fool."

"I play all parts equally well," replied Emerald. "That is
all part of my office. It is the only way I can speak out on
matters that weigh perhaps too heavily with some."

"What is it you spoke of? Come, old fellow, you have no
need to mince words here."

"I know I don't. I speak only as a friend when I say those

94 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

things. There are not many who are prepared to hear me. I
knew when I came upon the first of the signs that they are
holding the Feast of the Red Bear that I had reached a time
when I had better find myself a place to go, or a settlement
to be with. The signs are all there."

"The Feast of the Red Bear! So other settlements have
held it, too? We were not the only ones?"

"Once that feast has been held, there will be no more
peace in our lifetimes, citizen, or even in the lifetimes of
these young ones here."

Owen looked from one to the other, waiting for something
further. "They have held the feast here," he said slowly.
"We weren't allowed to go."

Darek nodded agreement. "Famhart said it was no place
for us."

"There are strange stories that have been riding the skirts
of that tale," said the minstrel. "From one end of the Line to
the other, and from further north as well, I've heard it said
that the feast is the omen that marks the onset of the
troubles."

"Where have you heard these tales, minstrel? Who are
your sources?" asked Kegin, feeling uneasy, even though he
was reluctant to take Emerald seriously.

"From the South Channels, and from the Moon Children
of Trew, and others."

"The Moon Children of Trew! Surely you place no sub-
stance to anything they might have told you?"

"I hear everything, from all sources. Some I believe, some
I don't, it depends. When there is a spark of truth. Emerald
listens."

The minstrel looked evenly at Kegin before going on, then
pointed to the tent where Linne lay.

"I know where the blow came from that struck your
elder's wife! It came from Trew, by one there who goes by
the name of Argent Largo."

Kegin had risen in a rush, and was prepared to fall on the
musician, but Owen was between them in a flash and held
his father's friend back.

The Arrival of a Minstrel                95

"If you know this, then you must be in league with that
devil," said Kegin through clenched teeth.

"Not in league, citizen, nor anything else. And this young
lad here is right about what it will take to save his mother! I
heard as much from the Lady of Trew."

"How come you to move so freely there? No one comes or
goes there anymore! The Rogen have come back, and the
borders have been closed to travelers for more than a half
dozen turnings."

"Emerald goes many places where others can't. And he is
here to tell you that you're in grave danger if you remain
where you are. The one who calls himself Argent Largo is
gathering a following to capture your lady, even as we
speak."

"Great Havens of Weir, why didn't you say so, man?"
blurted Kegin, tugging at a signal horn that was tangled in
his cloak.

"There's no need for that, my good citizen. There is time.
I've com& to warn you in plenty of time to take action."

"Shall we go toward the South Channels, Emerald? Will
we try for the leaf of the Three Trees, and to try to find
Gillerman and Wallach there?"

"We shall indeed, my lad! I was to hold my tongue until I
found a sign, and when I saw the longsword, I knew I was
home. That was the very weapon that my master wore for
all the time we were together. I know we can find our way
back to him now."

"Hold up, friend! No one said anything about galavanting
off toward those pestholes of mountains. There's only one
way to reach the South Channels, and that runs through
Trew, and across the Edges. There's no one in his right mind
would try that now, and no way to say for sure one could get
over the Silver Mist Pass, even if they succeeded that far."

"I've done it," replied Emerald calmly- "It can be done.
And it's the only way you will ever reach the country of the
Three Trees."

Kegin was opening his mouth to protest, when the sword
at Owen's side began to glow a brilliant blue-white, and a
faint, faraway sound of the sea began to grow in the clearing

96 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

about the fire, which shot great flames upward into the night
in all directions, bringing the camp out into a state of
general alarm, and causing a frantic call to arms.

Soon the darkness was ablaze with the watchfires all
along the Line River, and a council of war was begun in
earnest, led by Kegin and Emerald the minstrel, and the two
young friends, Owen and the orphan Darek.

Chellin Duchin

It took all their strength to get the water-logged basket
ashore and to dry land where they could study it more
closely. Chellin and Judge sat exhausted by the lakeside,
breathing in great gulps of-air, and coughing up water they
had swallowed.

"I thought you'd lost the last of your wit there," gasped
Judge. "I know you never learned to swim from all the
teasing the other stewards rag you with."

"No need to try to do something a fish likes," growled
Chellin, between a coughing bout. "A waste of good time
well spent elsewhere.'*

"A fine thing that would have been to carve on your
funeral stone," chided Judge. "Here is Chellin Duchin, too
stiff-necked to learn to swim. Drowned."

"It would have given a great deal of pleasure to more than
a few I could name," said Chellin, standing up and gather-
ing his discarded mail and cloak.

"There won't be any such luck for the raiders this day,
Cheilin. But what is this that has almost drowned us both to
drag it off this lake bottom? I don't think I've ever seen
anything quite like it."

"I was trying to show you some of the craftwork that went

Chellin Duchin                     97

into this earlier. Judge- You said it looked like a knot of
vines."

"It still does. Were there lake people who used to use this
way of cording reeds together?"

"After a way of thinking, my dull dog. But you are
looking at something that goes back even further than the
dwellers here before. You are looking at the burial shroud of
an ancient race, and this one in particular is one of high
station, if I'm not mistaken,"

The two were joined by the others as they spoke, and soon
were surrounded at the lakeshore by their party.

"What is it?" asked Hamlin, leaning closer to the reed
basket.

"Chellin says it's a funeral basket," replied Judge, "for
one of an ancient race."

"What ancient race are you speaking of?" asked Jeremy.

"The dreamers," replied Chellin. "The elves."

"Elves!" echoed Hamlin and Jeremy together.

"The same. Have your ears gone so bad you can't trust
them?" grumbled Chellin, carefully pulling away the outer
layer of thatched reeds to reach the watertight compartment
which lay beneath the rough outer surface.

"How did you ever spot this, Chellin? It looks just like the
rest of the reed banks here."

"The story is all in the mud along the shore here. It didn't
take too much to piece together what had happened." Chel-
lin looked up from the burial cask and studied the distant
sky. "There was a small party here who came ashore from
the lake, and were surprised by someone ashore. That much
I can make out. What puzzles me now is what happened to
this fellows' friends, and how they escaped."

"What are you talking about? How did who escape?"

"The others from the lake, Jeremy. There were five or six
of them. I can't imagine what errand they had been on to be
in these pans, or how they came to be set upon. These lads
aren't the easiest to come on by surprise, and I don't think
those louts from the South Channels are so good that they
would be capable of doing it."

98 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

"They evidently found a way to do it, Chellin. Here's the
proof."

The gruff face of the commander softened when he pulled
back the scented cloth that covered the elfs features.

"He was of high rank, by the look of it," said Jeremy.
"And see how young he was."

"Don't let their looks deceive you, lad. This poor fellow is
older by a score of years than all of us here put together.
There's something in the makeup of these folk that keeps
them looking like youngsters even after they've lived a
hundred turnings or so."

"But how could that be? No one could live so long and not
show it," argued Hamlin.

**These are questions you shall have to ask someone who
knows, my buck. I have an idea that we may be stumbling
into some of the chaps returning to retrieve their friend."

"Why would they do that?" asked Judge- "They've done
the best for him they could."

"I'm surprised to find they left him behind at all. It's not
their way. They must have been hard pressed to have gone
without him."

"They stayed long enough to bury him. It must have
taken some time to weave that casket!"

"They're handy at that, Hamlin. And I wonder at this!
Look!" Chellin had been examining the inside of the burial
robe as he talked, and had withdrawn a small packet that
had been concealed inside the elfs shirt.

"Can you make any of that out?" asked Judge, peering
intently over Hamlin's shoulder, trying to read the strange
markings. "And what kind of marking paper is that? I've
never seen the likes of it."

"Sometimes they would use this for building settlements,
Judge. It's paper, but it folds like cloth, and is as hard as a
plank. It can't be soaked or burned, and I've heard tales of
some of the waterfolk who built boats out of it."

"Can you read what it says?"

Chellin held up the packet to try to study it by the fading
afternoon light. "We'll look into it tonight when we have

Chellin Duchin                     99

more time. Now let's get this poor fellow hidden again. I
don't like the feel of being out here in the open like this."

"Is there anything else in there? Shouldn't we check?"

"There's nothing else, Hamlin. I feel like a bandit taking
this packet, but it may tell us something of who this chap
was, and where he came from, and perhaps what happened
to him and his mates. We need to know all we can now.
We're dealing with a dangerous enemy here. They've grown
bolder and stronger, and we don't seem to have any real clue
as to where they've come from, or who is behind them."

"The South Channels," said Judge. "That's where the
raiders have always come from."

"Aye, the South Channels," snorted Chellin. "A good
whipping post to lay the blame on. The rebels and outcasts
have always lived there because of the wilderness of the
mountains, but there were old families there once, and
grand clans that were powerful and respected."

"You must jest, Chellin! There has never been a decent
soul come out of the South Channels!"

Chellin Duchin looked away from Jeremy and studied the
sky. "You are a very young man, my buck, and haven't had
much in the way of education, what with always being away
at duty as a steward of the Line. I am as much to blame as
anyone, I suppose. There were always times that I intended
to set aside so that you and Hamlin and Judge could get a
proper education, and learn your books as well as you had
learned to look to your longswords, and be like the rest of
the lads in the other settlements. That was always my idea,
and I guess I kept it until one day I looked about me, and
you and the rest of the mongrels were grown. I don't know
when it happened, but it did. And now I suffer for it, to hear
you make statements like 'there was never a decent soul
from the South Channels.* I can understand your ignorance,
and forgive you for it, but I won't tolerate it to go on any
further. I shall have to make sure I keep my promise to have
the books taught to you the first time we cross the track of
one of the loremasters."

Jeremy and Hamlin squirmed and groaned aloud.

"You've threatened us with that fate for as long as we've

100 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

been with you. It begins to lose its sting, Chellm- I don't
think there are any of the old loremasters left."

"We shall find one, if I have to search him out of the
Rogen Woods. It won't do for grown men of the Line to be so
misinformed as to their proper history. Some of your own
ancestors came from lines that go all the way back to their
birthplaces in the South Channels."

"1 never heard that," said Hamlin, whistling his unbelief.

"You will hear it from those who know. When we reach
camp tonight, we will speak to Port and Starboard. Their
mother was of the clans of Trew, and was said to know many
things. There were tales spread once that she could see the
future with a cup of leaves."

"You know the clans of Trew are all mad! What nonsense,
Chellin! No one can do those things."

"Remember this. Judge, that you were one who would not
believe me if I told you of an elf, if you hadn't laid eyes on
him yourself."

The young man nodded slowly. "That's true enough,
Chellin. I would never have given much weight to a story of
that clan, if clan they are- They have always been spoken of
in the same way as all the other stories we tell about the fire
to entertain our young ones."

"That's why I should have kept my promise to have you
all taught the books. It isn't right to be brought up without
the right ways of looking at what goes on around us. It can
be a sad thing to have no sense of belonging, or understand-
ing of how it all fits together."

"You sound like my old father, Chellin. He was forever
threatening me with doom and destruction if I didn't see to
my education and give up all my daft ideas of joining the
stewards of the Line."

"Your sire was right in his concern, Hamlin. Look at you
now! You sit at the very funeral cask of one of the forgotten
clans, a race so old that there are no stories that were ever
told when there were none of them around, and if it weren't
for that race, you'd have no idea of what it means, or what it
holds for our future travels."

"It spells trouble, however you look at it," snapped Jer-

Chellm Duchin

101

emy. "Whoever attacked the elves can't be far removed
from here, and now we have an added mystery in finding out
how the assailants, whoever or whatever they were, could
stage an assault on someone you say are good soldiers."

"More than soldiers, Jeremy. They are masters at silence,
and getting about unnoticed. They are clever with cloth and
thread, and have secrets that we could never- dream of.
Some speak of the dreamers as being able to become invisi-
ble, and their weapons are among the very best that have
ever been cast or forged or hewn."

"None of that helped this poor fellow," said Hamlin.
"And I don't see any fancy arms here."

"No," agreed Chellin. "And that struck me as passing
odd. I begin to think that maybe he wasn't armed at all,
which is even stranger."

"Who would travel in these times without arms?" asked
Judge. "Surely no one who was familiar with the country-
side would be so careless as to try to journey outside his own
yard without proper weapons."

Chellin had fallen silent and withdrawn, and stood lost in
thought, idly handling the small packet he had taken from
the elf's burial casket.

Hamlin and Judge looked at each other with puzzled
glances, but their commander paid no attention to them,
and squatted down and laid out the contents of the packet
on the soft ground.

"I can't make this out, blast it to blazes. It looks like a
date, but it can't be right."

"What are you talking of, Chellin? What date?"

"The date of death! See there, at the edge! The rest of the
writing looks to be names. Probably his sire and dame, and a
whole family tog. Sometimes they put the marriages and
births in as well." Chellin paused, holding the document he
was studying up to the light. "There's no mistake here. The
date of death is over a hundred years ago! It's beyond me."

"How could that be?" asked Jeremy. "They only just
buried him recently!"

"It escapes me," confessed Chellin. "I thought I had read
the scene in the mud right, but maybe I'm losing my touch."

102 OVERIjORDS OF THE CHANNELS

He shook his head wearily. "The signs were all there for a
fight at the water's edge, and then when I saw the cask, I
thought I understood how it was."

"You read the cask right enough," said Hamlin. "How
you saw it there I'll never know. And how did you learn all
this other lore? I would never have thought of you as a book
man, Chellin."

"You'll find I'm more things than meet the eye, my buck,
even if I do misread signs once in a great while. You don't
know half the things that lie up old Chellin Duchin's cloak-
sleeve."

"I'm beginning to believe it," grumbled Judge. "1 thought
this was all to be a regular tour of duty with the Line
Stewards, but I'm beginning to believe that it might all be
better handled by a loremaster or juggler or one of the
wandering actors who used to come in the old days."

"Aye, and you might be a deal more suited for that part,
you worthless hound," scolded Chellin, but without anger,
"All of you together astound me sometimes. It's more than
old Chellin can bear! I just hope there will be some help for
me tonight when we tie up with Gruenig and his crew."

"You wouldn't be happy if you couldn't complain of
something, Chellin! I think your heart would break if you
didn't have something to find us at fault for!*'

"Right you are, Jeremy! My blood would grow thin and
weak if I didn't have you onion-heads to amuse me with
your antics. I can't think of a man in the stewards of the
Line who has more to endure than does poor Chellin
Duchin."

Chellin had risen and rolled the elfin packet up and put it
safely inside his cloak. He studied the flat surface of the lake
a moment, then turned his attention to where the woods
began again, which was at some distance from where he
stood. It was already dark under the eave of the forest, and a
faint breeze had begun to come up, stirring the tops of the
taller trees. There were other sounds there, of the knots of
refugees traveling slowly along the road, and a large fly
buzzing somewhere nearer to hand, but the gruff old warrior
seemed intent on listening for another sound. His face was

Chellin Duchin                    103

drawn and puzzled. "Can you hear that, Hamlin? Judge?
Any of you?"

"What? I hear only the fly, and the voices from the
settlers," replied Judge.

"No, not those sounds' This is something else. It's like
music!"

"Music!" chorused Jeremy and Judge.

"Yes, listen closer. There are pipers, and drums as well.
I'm sure it's music now."

"Your ears have been filled with lake water, Chellin!
That must make them ring. There is no sound of pipes or
drums," said Judge.

"There are pipes," argued Chellin. "I can hear them
plainly now. What's come of your ears, lads, that you can't
hear this?"

Hamlin shrugged his shoulders. "We can't hear what's
not there, Chellin! Maybe you've lost your hearing from
being in the water. Jeremy is right there, it must have had
some affect on you."

Chellin shook his head, a strange look crossing his griz-
zled features. "There is nothing wrong with my hearing,
lads. It's like nothing I've ever heard before."

Jeremy and his companions exchanged worried glances,
and were at a loss as to what to do next.

"Perhaps we can get him to a healer tonight when we
camp," suggested Hamlin. "They must know something to

do."

"For arrows or swordstrokes, or broken bones," said
Judge. "I don't think they would know what to do for
someone who has come loose of his senses."

Chellin looked sternly at his young charges. "You lads are
the ones who've come off your senses. If you can't hear these
pipes and drums, you're all as deaf as rocks!"

Jeremy was at the point of thinking of trying to subdue
his leader, when a ripple crossed the lake in a long slender
silver motion, and behind it came a wind that was not a
wind, but rather a breath from a hushed note from a pipe,
high up and far away.

Dumbfounded, the friends fell back and gazed at the

104 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

water, watching in awe as a sleek golden craft appeared
from a white mist that had sprung up from the ripple, and
glided silently to the edge of the small lake. At first they
could see no one aboard, but another note was blown from
the unseen pipe, and a figure, all clad in dazzling green and
gold, stepped off the boat onto shore, directly in front of
Chellin.

Jeremy and Judge and Hamlin fell to one knee 'in a
sweeping bow, and Hamlin grabbed off his cap and clutched
it tightly before him.

"Our greetings. Stewards of the Line. May your roads go
on in safety, and your beards grow gray in front of friendly
fires."

Chellin found his voice, and beginning to detect a glim-
mer of what was happening, he replied in kind, "Our greet-
ings, clan of the troubled dreams. May you ever have the sea
to sail, and a fair wind to drive you."

Hamlin was shocked to hear his leader addressing the
imposing stranger in such a familiar manner, but he held his
peace, unable to utter a word.

There were others there in the silver mist that surrounded
the delicately shaped craft, but they remained behind their
leader, and did not show their features.

The one who had spoken was a living replica of the elf
they had seen in the funeral cask, but with a fine white
beard that ran to his waist.

"We have come to retrieve one we have lost, citizen. You
have called us from our rest when you disturbed his sleep."

"We did so not knowing," said Chellin, bowing. "We have
not seen nor heard from the clans who dream in many
seasons. I was trying to piece together the puzzle by these
means. We meant no harm to you or yours."

"I know that, citizen. We have ways of knowing the heart.
We read no blackness in yours. But we must take our fallen,
and his belongings. They are not to be left behind."

"Can you tell me what has happened, oh dreamer? What
has occurred here that caused the death of your friend?"

"Our brother was not slain, as you know it, citizen. He
was betrayed and poisoned by the folk of Trew, that crafty

Chellin Duchm                   105

lot who have long been our bane. We have come to fetch
him, and to give him the leaf of breath from the Tree Who
Walks."

"You mean to say that you're going to make him live
again?" asked Judge. "That's impossible!"

"He is not dead, good citizen. He merely sleeps the steep
of silence."

"What is that, except death?" asked Jeremy.

"1 see you are not schooled in the ways of our clans,"
replied the elf. "But no matter. It is for another time,
perhaps. Let it be known that there are deaths, and then
there are deaths. We each experience many before we are
through, and seek the Last Havens."

Jeremy was on the verge of questioning the elf further,
when the air about them filled with the sound and light that
had come before, and a party of six hooded elves dis-
embarked and gently picked up the funeral cask, and car-
ried it back aboard the shimmering form of the golden craft.

"We must ask you to return that which you removed from
our kinsman's cask, friend. It must return with him when we
leave for our journey. Nothing must remain behind which
would pull him back."

Chellin reached into his cloaR and withdrew the small
packet. "You have explained much, sir, but you leave many
questions unanswered that I had hoped to discover with
this."

"Your answers will come in time, citizen. You are on the
verge of all you desire to know."

"Wait!" cried Judge. "You can't slip away like this! We
would have more of an answer than your vague ramblings!"

Chellin bowed low to the elf, apologizing. "You must
forgive my hotheaded young companion, sir. He has never
been raised in much of the way of manners. He is well
meaning, though, and has a stout heart."

"No offense taken, citizen. We must go now. There are
many others of our clans who must be found and taken from
their waiting. Farewell, good pilgrims. May your roads lead
you on to freedom."

As the elf finished speaking, the pipe music grew, stirring

106 OVERLORDS OF THE CHANNELS

the air about the friends into a gale of light and sound,
whirling ever faster, and causing their horses to rear up and
neigh in wild-eyed terror.

Almost as soon as it had begun, there was a total silence,
and the waters of the small lake again became placid and
smooth. Nothing moved, and there was no sound except the
nervous trembling of their mounts, and the slow procession
of refugees on the roadway to their right. A large 'bee
hummed and lazily landed on the hilt of Chellin's sword,
drawing him back from the deep thought he had fallen into.
The others seemed to come to their senses at the same time,
and all tried to speak at once.

"What on earth?" began Jeremy, but his voice trailed
away when he couldn't find words to express himself.

"Now you have made the acquaintance of the dreamers,"
said Chellin quietly. "The fair ones who wait for the last call
to sound so they may return to their homes for good."

"Where is that?" asked Hamlin.

"Beyond any maps or charts we know of," replied
Chellin.

"They certainly don't stand much on civility," muttered
Judge. "We could use their help."

"They have matters of their own to attend to, it seems,"
said Hamlin. "And I don't miss my mark when I say their
hasty exit was a sign of proof that they aren't overly fond of
the human animal."

"They may resemble us in some ways, but never think
they are like us," corrected Chellin. "I don't know so much
of their kind or their past, but I do know that after the
Middle Islands, they chose to leave this world as we know it,
for wherever it is they call home."

"They sound like a very strange lot," said Hamlin. "And
seeing how they make their presence known, or take their
leave, I can do as well without them. It isn't natural."

Chellin Duchin laughed. "They are some of the least
disturbing of the lads I've crossed trails with, my bucks.
There are fellows that would make your hair fair stand out
on end, and I wager we'll meet some of them before this
little errand sees its end. Running into these chaps has

Chellin Duchin                    107

convinced me that there is much more afoot than a simple
border skirmish. The stewards of the Line may not be
enough to turn the tide this time. This is bigger than
anything I've ever dealt with."

The grizzled leader folded his arms behind him and
walked back and forth in deep thought, pausing briefly to
stare away at the horizon where the beginning of the taller
mountains raised their white towers toward the deep blue of
the late afternoon sky.

"We have much to look into when we camp tonight," he
said at last, taking a long breath and looking sadly about
him. "Let's see to our heels, lads. We have a way to go to
catch up to our good companions. They'll be there long
before us at this rate, and 1 dare say the soup will be cold to
boot."

Hamlin and Jeremy were full of more questions, but they
had seen their leader in his thoughtful state before, and
knew not to pursue anything further.

Chellin was distracted again as they mounted and pre-
pared to join the others at the rendezvous, and got down
once more to walk about on the edge of the lake, peering
intently at certain objects here and there, at places the
others could find nothing unusual that stood out, or that
would warrant such attention.

Jeremy saw Chellin stoop one last time, and thought it
distinctly odd that he had carefully picked up what
appeared to be a small brown leaf, and put it gingerly away
in a leather wallet he carried at his belt.

The lad made a point to remind himself to question his
commander as soon as they arrived at their destination for
the night.

RIPPLES
ON THE
RIVER

Secret Plans

From far and wide the vast host came, lured by the promises
of great rewards offered by the man who called himself the
Red Bear- The hills of the Bitter Roots, and the Wastes of
Leech spewed forth legions of soldiers who sought out the
warrior who spoke of booty and spoils and land for the
taking. They were not disappointed when they arrived in the
settlements of the South Channels and saw the huge gather-
ings of an army that would retreat from nothing, and which
grew more powerful with every passing day.

There were all manner of arms and mounts and armor,
and many bands and clans who mingled there in the early
spring of the year, playing at their rough sports that pre-
pared them for war, or tending to their mounts and gear.
Great camps sprang up wherever the armies gathered, and
thriving populations followed the soldiers, making numerous
settlements bulge with the new numbers, and founding other
settlements where there had been none before.

The one who called himself the Red Bear had discovered
early that there were icons in all the main squares of the
settlements of the South Channels, and in the gathering
halls as well, and those icons had given him the clue to the
weakness he had been searching for when he was first
brought before the elder of the Order of the South
Channels.

These people who he wished to enlist in his campaign of
revenge were taken with bears! He had not believed his good
fortune when he first saw the small statues in the village
square, when he was brought in as no more than an odd
captive, who proved to be entertaining, and as such, would

110

Secret Plans                        111

be kept alive accordingly. The citizens he had met did not
seem overly awed by his small magical illusions, and it was
becoming alarmingly clear to him that the dwellers of the
South Channels were not ignorant peasants who would be
taken in out of fear or intimidation.

They were powerful enemies, and would be quite capable
of slaying him, unless he could succeed in calling back the
spirits of the flying snakes. Those dark beings had carried
him away from his final resting place in the Sea of Roaring,
when he had been stunned by the dreadful fury of the storm
of white light that had erupted after he had touched the
Horn -of Bruinthor that his infidel brother had carried.

Now he sat at the crown of strength overlooking his
gathering armies, alive and in command, and on the move to
claim his rightful place, while his miserable brother was
long gone over the Boundaries, swept away into eternity by
the same wind that had brought him to power.

That thought gave Bern much pleasure as he sat watching
his invincible army daily build in strength.

"Does this please you. Lord Bern?" asked a voice at his
side. "You seem fond of looking out your window and seeing
all this show of force."

"It pleases me well enough, Arnault. I like the thought of
being able to strike a swift and fatal blow with the first
thrust. It is in my bear code that that is so."

Bern looked sternly at the man, a cold, deadly gaze that
turned Arnault's heart to ice, although he did not show it.

"I meant nothing but that it seems the time grows near to
sound the call for flowing out of our homelands to avenge
the wrongs done you- We need no longer fear any force that
might be thrown up against us. We have the most powerful
armies now. Even the stewards of the Line are matched
above their strength when compared to us."

"That's well and good," replied Bern, pacing back to the
window overlooking the broad square, now filled with smi-
thies and craftsmen who traded in the wares of war. "Yet
when I strike, I want nothing left to counter me. This blow
must be placed at the enemy's heart, and fall so suddenly
there is no other course open."

112 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

"Look for yourself,'* soothed Arnault. "There is no
stronger army anywhere in the South Channels. You have
called all the old factions and warring clans back together
with your promises."

Arnault paused, smiling slyly. "I hope you are prepared
to deliver all you say you shall. These are rough lads, these
hillmen. They don't cotton well to strangers. I've never seen
them take to anyone the way they have to you. I would hate
to see it end badly,"

Bern laughed.

"Your smooth talk covers nothing of your malicious heart,
good elder. I know you hold no great affection for me, and
haven't from the first. I have a use for you, and shall
continue to endure your company, even though it galls me.
Just pray your use to me continues, Arnault! Heed my
advice, and goad me no further. Send in the scouts and the
charts. I have much to do this afternoon."

Arnault bowed low, mumbling under his breath as he did
so, secretly planning a fitting end for the upstart who had
come into his settlement and seized control of all the other
members of the council, and of the other settlements that
thrived in the South Channels as well.

He had seen the mysterious transfiguration of the man
into the form of a bear, and had not been able to spot the
illusion, or figure how the ruse had been worked. It had been
done well, he knew, and it had duped the others of the
settlement into elevating the stranger to his present high
command, but Arnault knew there was a key to the trick
somewhere, and when he found it, he would expose the
imposter and have him slain.

Those thoughts cheered Arnault as he set out to find the
scouts Bern wanted, and the chartmasters who busied them-
selves all day every day deep in the recesses of the dark
shops, toiling away at marking and detailing the geography
of the lands around them. No one was quite sure when the
chartmasters had started their work, or exactly why it had
been begun, but now they had a new purpose to serve under
the Master Bern, and they strutted about grandly in their

Secret Plans                        115

newfound favor with the strange leader who was known to
be able to take on the form of the Sacred Bear,

"Fat leeches, all of them," grumbled Arnault, watching
them hurry away to their appointment. "They never had
any real use before, except to show the kippers at their
lessons where they lived, and what was beyond our own
front doors. I hope the lot of them get what's coming to
them when this whole affair is shown up for what it really
is."

Arnault hurried along to finish his errand, and met his
friend Morghen on his way.

"I see you have been to see the mighty Bern this after-
noon," he said, raising his eyebrows and making a pompous
face.

"Hush, you idiot. Don't let anyone hear you talking like
that. You know how everyone is awestruck since that show
of his in the square."

"I believed it," said Morghen, nodding sagely. "Until he
started in on the stories of the treasure. 1 don't think there is
anything like he says in any of the lowland settlements. The
riffraff he convinced, but I know what I know well enough,
and I say he went a bit too far out on a limb with all those
tales."

"Look at the fools pour in, though! I never thought there
were so many lamebrains in the South Channels."

"More coming in everyday."

"I think Master Bern may be giving himself enough rope
to hoist himself here, Morghen. With all this mob that's
coming in now, there's bound to be someone who may have
known him before, or have heard of him. I know he claims
that his true form is that of a bear, and all that rot, but I
don't swallow it. The son of Mother Arnault was not born a
blathering idiot, and I say we just bide our time and wait for
him to make a slip."

"Speaking of which, you'd better keep out of his way.
There's talk among the council at how you bait the great
Bern. You and I have always had our enemies among the
council, Arnault. This new tyrant has taken their eyes off us

114 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

for the moment, but they are treacherous dogs, and bite
without warning."

"1 know them well enough, Morghen. And I think this
bloke is a stroke of fortune for us, in spite of it all. If we play
our hand right here, we will be rid of this imposter, as well
as atl those who have opposed us all these turnings. We'll
have the South Channels for ourselves yet, and be rid of the
yellow gizzards who have long held our purposes at bay."

"That will be a fine thing- We have waited long for the
return to power."

"1 see our time approaching, my trusted friend. Long
have we been held in check by Daghen and his cross-and-
shield banner! Sit and wait won't be our policy, Morghen!
We shall annex all the South Channels, and the Edges as
well!"

"Those are the dreams of our fathers, Arnault. That was
always said to be the way of it, and it was the destiny of our
clans to head all the others beneath us."

"Come along then. We have to send the last of the scouts.
I want to have a talk with this fellow. He's one of ours, and I
want to instruct him on his report to Master Bern, the
Almighty."

The two men wound through the throngs on the busy
street of the hidden settlement of Atholade, seeking the
scout who was loyal to Arnault. The crowds were boisterous
and the newly arrived soldiers of the various settlements
boasted aloud to each other, and called loudly for ale and
cheese at the tents that had sprung up to tend to the needs of
the growing army.

At last, in one of the older sections of the settlement,
Arnault found the man he was seeking, and the three of
them sat for a time, speaking in voices lowered to bare
whispers.

"You will tell Master Bern that our best path lies not over
the Silver Mist Pass, but through the lower passes of the
Edges, and on across the Hills of Trew. With all this mob,
we'll never be able to stay together unless we go that way."

The scout, called Trabe, looked puzzled.

"That was the way our great-grandsires came to the

Secret Plans                        115

Channels! Wasn't there a story of all the hardships and loss
they suffered there? The Rogen Keep is across that trail!"

Arnault lowered his voice further still, and his eyes were
narrowed until they were mere slits.

"Now don't you think that this Master Bern will be able
to deal with those folk at the Edges? Rogen Keep will be
nothing to our new leader. He says he can outdo anyone, so
we shall see how true to his word he'll be. If he defeats the
Rogen, and wins through for us to go through that way, our
passes will be open and free of that filth that have closed our
western borders for so long. And if he fails, then we won't
have lost anything at all, except to be rid of an outsider who
has no ties to our cause or our kind."

Trabe and Morghen puckered their lips and looked wide-
eyed at their leader.

"That's a plan!" whistled Trabe. "Two strokes at one, and
it won't cost us anything, even if it goes awry!"

"But you must argue well for the plan of going through
the Edges instead of over the Silver Mist. That way is
dangerous enough as it is, and it might be done, but we'll
lose our advantage there, and this upstart is the one who
would gain if an invasion succeeded by that route."
"I'll do my best," said Trabe, -rising to go.
Arnault grabbed the man's wrist in a viselike hold, look-
ing coldly through a threatening scowl.

"You'll do more than your best, Trabe! You'll convince
our good leader of the merits of going through the Edges.
You will be greatly rewarded for your efforts, of course."

"And if I fail to sway him, Arnault?" asked the scout,
disengaging himself uncomfortably.

"We shall see. I don't wish to contemplate a failure! We
will go on with our plans as though everything were in order.
Do your duty bravely, Trabe, and we shall see it through
together!"

Arnault smiled then, a thin shadow of menace creeping
through.

Trabe went without further word, leaving the two men at
the table.

"He is a good man, Arnault. If anyone can convince the

116 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

lowtander that the plan to invade the colonies should be
through the Edges, Trabe is the chap to do it."

"I hope so, my friend, I hate it when I must cajole or use a
threat to make someone see reason- My arguments have
always been of a logical sort, and I have never understood
those who have opposed me. Sheer poor judgment on their
part, and envy, I suppose!"

"They are just angry because they haven't come from a
long line of Channel blood like you, Arnault. We've become
so crossed and mixed now, it's rare to find a Channelite
whose family goes back further than a generation."

"We must cling to our roots, Morghen, or we shall all be
lost. Mark my words, my friend."

Arnault slapped an open hand down on the tabletop to
emphasize his words, then rose hurriedly and followed the
direction Trabe had taken to find Bern.

A great war cry had gone up from somewhere in the
distance, and the sounds of chanting caused Morghen to
hurry along behind Arnault, to seek out the source of this
great new disturbance.

A Troubled Sleep

Emerald sat at the dying fire, watching the embers glowing
against the night shadows of the camp. It had been raining
hard earlier, so a shelter had been spread about the friends,
and a rhythmic patter of the drizzle still sounded, lulling the
sleepy mind, and making it hard to stay awake. Owen and
Darek were at his side, wrapped in their cloaks, sleeping
soundly, and next to them was Kegin, nodding off occasion-
ally into a shallow state of half-waking dreams.

He was snapped awake again by a noisy explosion of the

A Troubled Sleep                      117

crackling fire. "Hello! Are we attacked?" he asked, stug-
gling to get to his feet. "Is it Famhart?"

"Easy, good Kegin, it is nothing but the green wood in the
fire. We are secure here," replied Emerald in a low voice.

His companion rubbed his eyes, blinking in confusion. "I
was having a dream, 1 guess. Strange men had set on us, and
we had no weapons to defend ourselves."

"I've had those dreams," said the minstrel. "It always
seems to happen when I'm overtired, or anxious about
something."

Kegin, fully awake now, looked evenly into Emerald's
steady gaze. "You are a soothsayer as well, minstrel. You
read me well. You're right! If Famhart should return before
us, I will have much to explain to him."

"You didn't have to come along, then. I told you I'd lead
the lads through to the South Channels. I'm sure we shall
find my old master."

"I couldn't let Owen go without me. That would be worse
than leaving Linne, and I didn't fancy my choice."

"She would have joined us, had she been able. You said as
much yourself."

"And I think she would have. I only worry about leaving
her behind. The fiend who struck her down with treachery is
still loose somewhere. He could strike again while she's
helpless."

"Not likely," argued Emerald. "Besides your own camp,
, there are a dozen others there now, so there is more than
enough of a party to guard against an attack. Your being
absent could make no difference, my friend."

"Except that Famhart left me in charge," Kegin went on.

"You have heard my stories of my master, and the stories
Owen tells of him. He has said that they sent word to him to
meet them. I'm surprised that Famhart would have failed to
heed that sign."

"I was too, to tell you truly. He and Linne were at the
Middle Islands with the Keepers, and I know they were
friends with some of them."

Owen stretched and yawned, sitting up and rubbing his
eyes.

118 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

"Sorry," said Kegin. "We didn't mean to wake you."

"I heard you saying something about my father. I thought
for a minute he'd returned."

"No. There is no one here but us Owen. Go on and try to
get some sleep. We'll wake you when we're ready to leave in
the morning," said Emerald.

"I'm too awake now. I think I want to sit here and watch
the fire awhile."

"Here, have what's left of the tea, lad," offered Kegin.
"This will help you sleep,"

"I keep having the same dream over and over, Kegin. It's
like Gillerman is trying to tell me something, but I can never
remember it all when I wake up."

"What sort of dream?" asked Emerald. "You know there
are those who have the power to do that, to speak to you in
dreams."

"That's what this seems like, only I can't remember all of
it, and it slips away before I can call it back."

"Try to tell yourself that you'll remember it all before you
go to sleep again, lad. That will do it sometimes."

Kegin stirred the last of the fire and offered what was left
of the mulled ale to Emerald.

"No thanks, I'm fine now. Any more and I'd have to leave
this shelter in the middle of the night to find a place to
relieve myself."

"That's reason enough to forgo it," agreed Kegin. "It
seems awfully early for a storm like this."

"It gets stranger the further we go toward the South
Channels," said Emerald. "I've seen snow on the Silver Mist
Pass in the hottest part of July."

Owen sat with his longsword laid across his lap, and as he
moved about to make himself more comfortable, he noticed
a faint golden white glow emitting from the scabbard. There
was also a humming noise, as though someone were singing
a note low in their throat, so he eased the blade out a bit,
and was astounded by the light that flooded the shelter,
blinding them all a moment with its brillance.

Darek awakened with a start, and stared wild-eyed about

A Iroubled Sleep                     119

him, making little stuttering noises until at last he found his
voice and called out to Owen.

"I'm here, Darek. I don't know what's happened."

Kegin and Emerald had leaped to their feet, but stood
transfixed, unable to move further.

A wavering form appeared above the blade, and as the
companions watched, another appeared, then another, fol-
lowed by a voice that seemed to come from everywhere at
once.

"You are on the right road, my good Owen. We have come
to give you this warning, for tomorrow you will enter the old
settlement of Clover Hill. There is danger there, and you
must be wary. There are assassins who will set on you. Be
ever wakeful, and keep to the path toward us."

"Wait!" cried Owen, trying to see the wavering, ghostly
forms more clearly, but they had already begun to fade. In
another few moments, the shelter was again lit by only the
pale red flames from the watchfire, and the one voice that
was heard was that of Darek, who sobbed incontrollably
beneath his cloak.

"What is it, lad?" asked Kegin. "Have you been hurt?"

Darek was unable to answer, and cried more violently
than before.

"He must have been frightened by all this," said Emer-
ald. "I dare say it was jolt enough to wake from a dead sleep
to all that."

'  Owen ran his hand along the sword from the tip of the
blade to the hilt, feeling the keenness of its edge, and
marveling at the fact that it still felt warm to the touch.

A faint flicker of the golden white light still flared deep
within the dark steel, and as Owen peered closer, another
outline appeared, followed by Gillerman's voice, which
seemed to come from beside his ear, and was whispered, as
though no one else was to hear.

"You have one among you who is not what he seems! You
must keep to the path, lad, and not be swayed by surprises.
Keep on toward the Channels."

The figure in the pale light within the blade brightened a
moment, then dimmed, then was gone altogether.

120 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

Owen was vaguely disturbed as he gazed into the depths
of the blade, for there was an outline of a faintly familiar
face beneath the hood of a cloak, but it was gone before he
could recognize it.

An uneasy feeling swept over Owen then, and he scruti-
nized the faces of his three companions who sat with him
beneath the shelter, listening to the soft patter of the rain.

"What was it?" asked Kegin at last, finally able to muster
his thoughts. "I've heard of ghosts and spirits, but I always
thought they were just tales told to the young!"

"This wasn't ghosts or spirits, my good fellow," replied
Emerald- "I haven't seen the likes of it since I was at my old
master's table, but I'm not likely to forget this kind of show.
He was always at it, one way or another, he and his friends."

"You mean there are those who bandy with the likes of al!
that?"

"And more, Kegin. This was but a taste."

Darek had sobbed loudly throughout the friends* conver-
sation, and Owen was at his side, trying to calm the lad.
Kegin and Emerald stirred up the fire and mulled another
pot of tea, talking all the while in soothing tones to try to
quiet the distraught boy.

"It was nothing to be frightened of, lad! This sort of
fireworks is of a good cause. It only seems to be so startling
at first when it comes on you by surprise. You'll get used to
it."

"You mean there's to be more?" asked Kegin doubtfully.

"Oh, to be sure. Since Owen has the sword, there's an
easy way for the master to reach him. He could even
without it, but it helps to have a familiar to focus on."

"A familiar?"

"Yes, something that you've touched or handled. Some-
thing that isn't hard for you to imagine."

"But how does that help?"

"If you were at the sea, Kegin, and I were here, and you
wanted to think of something about me, what would it be?
What would you think of first?"

"Why, your musical toy there," replied Kegin. "It's
almost as though it's a part of you."

A Troubled Sleep                      121

"Exactly- And if you had learned the simple techniques of
being able to speak within your mind, all it would be
necessary for you to do would be think of my harp, and
imagine it until it was clear in your thoughts. Then you
could speak to me almost as clearly as you should if you
were actually in front of me."

"That's all mullet stew to me. Emerald. I prefer to do my
talking to you the way things are, with me here and you
there. I like to have my two good peepers on something flesh
and bone when I talk."

The minstrel laughed, handing Owen a cup of the steam-
ing tea to give Darek, who had stopped sobbing, but still
shivered beneath his cloak, as though he were chilled
beyond warmth.

"There's nothing so mysterious about it all when you
learn the workings, my friend. If I were to hand you my
harp and tell you to play, you wouldn't be able to do it
because you haven't learned the way of it. But if I were to
teach you the steps, in time you'd be able to play and sing
along without even thinking of how you did it."

"Did Gillerman teach you how to talk like that?" asked
Owen. "If you were with him all that time, did he teach you
those things?"

"What I learned was that you can't reply on unnatural
acts to get you by in this world, lad. My master taught truth
and service. He always said that to believe a thing without
working at it as well was worse than not believing at all, or
lying about it to others. And I was constantly at my
lessons."

"You mean how to handle arms or horses?"

"No, Owen, although I have had my fair share of that. I
was taught that to be truly strong, you must be able to keep
a foe from making a mistake and attacking. If I appear
unbeatable to you, you will never go to weapons against me,
and I shall never have to resort to arms to drive you away. It
is a mistake some make, but my master always tried to show
that by his example, that war was not by law a warrior's
trade."

122 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

Darek had calmed considerably, but still shivered and
chattered beneath the folds of his cloak.

"Do you feel ill, lad?" asked Kegin. "Should we find a
healer for you?"

"N-n-n-ooo," stuttered Darek. "I'm all right. It's just that
Clover Hill is near my old settlement, and where my father
and mother were lost—1—-"

The young man could not continue, and broke off into
heaving sobs that wracked his small shoulders.

"Here, here, old fellow," consoled Kegin. "The first rule
of the march is that a soldier has to be brave!"

Darek cned harder at the warrior's words.

"There's no harm in tears," said Emerald, taking his
instrument out of the leather sack at his side. "Listen to
these words that a very old soldier sang a long time ago, at
the battle of the Middle Islands."

As the minstrel tuned his harp, Darek quieted and wiped
his eyes.

"Once was a mighty wind
blew from sea to sea,
and it was said that

all the men
would find a road to glory,
but then the still night came

that followed morning's call
and all who rode the winds of war

were lost one and all,
oh the dragon high came with fire
and the darkness brought the ice,
while the silver horns of Windameir
sounded hopes of wounded dreams,
of silence and serenity,
among the lands of plenty
white with golden hands of kindness,
sought to soothe the empty hearts
of those who bent the bow
and toiled at swordstroke,
until another dawning brought

A Troubled Sleep                     123

the light of love at last,

and the sweet memory of forgiveness
and forgotten pain grew as a hope of peace
winging with the tiny bird
to find a heart to dwell in,
oh a heart to dwell in."

Emerald strummed the harp twice in a chord that
wrenched the heart in an odd, sad way.

"We must look to our tomorrows," he said, laying down
the instrument. "It may look like we're small and without
help, but if we can reach my master, we shall have a key to
the Keepers. They must be called again to stem this tide."

"Why can't they foresee all this, if they're so wise and all
knowing?" asked Kegin sharply. "Surely if they're so aware
of happenings anywhere, they'd know we could use all the
help we can get."

"Oh, they know," answered Emerald. "Yet sometimes
there is nothing for them to do but wait. There will come a
time in all this when we'll see the point of it."

Kegin snorted.

"Now that promise would almost make me want to stick
around long enough to see what reason there was to it all."

"We are going to find Gillerma'n," said Owen resolutely.
"Gillerman will help us find the leaf that my mother needs.
If there is nothing else other than that I can do, it is goal
enough. She needs the help of all of us."

"Of course, Owen! We were never in doubt of trying to do
all we can for Linne. There is no one among us who would
doubt that!"

Owen thought he saw a moment of uneasiness flicker
across Darek's face, but he cursed himself for being stupid,
remembering that his young friend was still suffering from
the shock of losing his mother and father in the battle that
set the settlements of the Line into motion to escape the
relentless invaders who beset them on every side.

With that thought, he resolved to himself to do everything
in his power to seek out the two powerful men in the South
Channels, and to bring aid to his mother as quick as mortal
man could possibly do it. Kegin gave him a reassuring clap

124 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

on his back, but there was a faint, knowing look in Emer-
ald's eyes that disturbed him. It could have been a reflection
from the fire, but it forced him to recall a half-forgotten
memory of a tale that his mother had told him long ago, of
friendships and betrayals, and death.

It was not a pretty thought, and it took Owen a long time
to fall into a troubled sleep.

A Renegade Squadron

Inside the small confines of the travel shelter, Stearborn's
large frame seemed to dwarf the kettle that sang on the
camp stove. The others sat restlessly, looking from the door
to Stearborn, and back at the door again.

"This visit of mine was a bit unlocked for, was it?" The
big man laughed. "Not often that you get waked up from a
snooze on the dead watch to come in for a pot of tea, eh,
lads?"

Stearborn's rough laughter erupted again, causing a fresh
wave of unease among the gathered sentries.

Outside, the sound of horses and men were confused, and
it seemed that a great commotion was taking place beyond
the shelter walls.

"They had warned us of tricks like these, but I had hoped
my old eyes would never see it," said Stearborn, shaking his
head sadly. "What has come over the world, I don't wonder.
The next thing I'll hear is that we have lost our way so
completely that you'll give me a perfectly reasonable story
as why two hundred of our best bowmen are on the road to
Trew without orders, and no real way to explain their
behavior, except to speak the truth, which tells me that you
and your squadron were defecting."

A Renegade Squadron                 125

The huge man spoke so softly, in a voice so devoid of
inflection, that he might have been reciting a long forgotten
love poem.

In front of him, a burly man with dark circles under his
eyes, and a black, bristling mustache, stood up.

"You've got the picture all wrong, Stearborn. The lads
and 1 were pursuing a band of raiders these past few days,
and we had lost them Just before you came on us. If we are
near the Edges of Trew, it's news to us, and no good news at
that! I know the old stories of what happens to those who
enter Trew."

"I like your steel, Nashet! Pure and simple, and down to
it! Simple story, and it would fit with all the facts we have,
except that I've been in these woods long enough to know
there hasn't been a raiding party anywhere near here since
the night Sweet Rock was attacked."

"These are slippery felons, Stearborn. These aren't the
old raiders you and I have been used to dealing with all
these years. I have never seen the tikes of these blokes! They
fair turn your blood to ice, they do."

Stearborn barked a short, gruff laugh, or what passed for
it.

"Mud doesn't lie, Nashet. My-men and I have covered
every direction from here for half-a-day's march, and
there's nothing at all in the way of raiders, real or imagined.
But that leaves a lot in the way of explaining how I come to
find a full squadron of the Line, fully armed, fed, and on the
march, without orders, and in the direction of a known
enemy stronghold."

"Trew is no enemy stronghold, Stearborn! Never has
been! Nothing more for it, but a place to avoid when
traveling."

"Perhaps that has been so in the past, good Nashet, but
now there are those nasty rumors that keep reaching old
Stearborn's ears about a rebel upstart who offers gold and
glory to any and all who come to join him wage a fight
against the order of the Lower Meadows."

Nashet shook his head stubbornly.

"I've never heard tell of anything near a tale like that.

126 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

You have no way to prove it, either, Stearborn. You have
lingered too long in the twilight of your reputation to begin
to think you would be able to make your insulting accusa-
tions hold up before a clan council."

The older man tugged his beard thoughtfully, as if
pondering some dark and puzzling object on the small camp
stove.

"You're right about one thing, Nashet. I have lived too
long in the twilight of my past reputation. I'd begun to be a
bit set in my ways, I can see. I've also lost touch with how
things stand with my watch commanders. Most frightening,
indeed, to suddenly be drawn up short like this."

Nashet made no reply, but studied his commander behind
half-shut eyes.

Stearborn moved to the table where a map of the Line
was spread out.

"It's not far from here. Another two hours' march and
you would have been gone."

"I don't know what you're speaking of. You can ask any
of my men, and you'll find the same answer. We were
pursuing a force of the enemy, but they had given us the
slip. We were simply trying to make contact again."

Stearborn pulled up the stool from beneath the table and
sat down, sighing as he did so.

"I have half a mind to wash my hands of you. It would be
a simpler thing than the fal-tra-do this will cause if I pursue
it."

Nashet's eyes registered surprise at first, then a gleam of
hope.

"That's it, Stearborn! You have no proof at all, and you
know it wouldn't sit well now, not with all the trouble
abroad. One more thing to burden the council with would be
a serious mistake."

The old commander froze his lieutenant with a gaze that
seemed to bore straight through the younger man.

**I have made no mistake here, Nashet. I can see what's
clearly afoot, yet I know not how best to deal with it. It's a
problem I have never been faced with in all my years as a

A Renegade Squadron                 127

steward of the Line- I am sorry to have lived so long as to
have to see a time like this arrive."

"There's no sense in making a high issue out of nothing,
commander. You'll find there may come a time when an
apology might be in order."

Nashet sensed a change in the charged atmosphere of the
shelter, and had begun to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Too soon, I suppose," said Stearborn. "1 have always
been accused of impetuous actions. Perhaps my hand would
have been played differently, had 1 slowed myself until you
had crossed over into the Edges."

"You would have had to have been slow, indeed. You are
the one who issued the order to not pursue any enemy force
into Trew. There are stories there that would turn any
decent man's heart to ice!"

"A problem you wouldn't be forced to deal with, Nashet.
I've watched and hoped all these years since you took over
your father's command, that you would fill his shoes in some
small degree. It is better he's dead and gone and can't
witness this shame on the bright honor of his name."

Nashet's nostrils flared and he flushed a deep crimson; his
hand flirted with the hilt of his longsword, but he turned his
back on Stearborn instead, shoulders heaving, as though he
were having difficulty in controlling his breathing-

"My father's good name is nothing to me, Stearborn. He
is a relic, like you, only you're still alive. These are changed
times that have done this! You refuse to see what has
happened to the Line, and the rest of the settlements."

"It's a changed world, aye, lad, but no much for the
better. There was a time when kinship and loyalty meant
something. There was a time when honor and right were
words that meant more than a pretty sounding way of
working treason."

"That's your old way of thinking, Stearborn! These are
new times, awaiting any bold enough to dare dream of how
it can be, not only here, but all across the settlements,
wherever they are."

Stearborn narrowed his eyes in a worried frown- "You

128 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

have been listening to the wild talk from that upstart in
Trew! Hasn't it occurred to you yet what he's about?"

"I would say he's about talking the truth, for a change.
We have grown up with the idea that the rightful king has
been victorious in all his battles against those who would
overthrow the standing order, but now at last, we find that
trickery and deceit have kept the truth from all those of us
who never knew the real nature of how power keeps its own
school, and might is right, no matter what."

"You are a fool, Nashet, all the worse for you, I can think
of no good reason to stand here arguing with you about the
rebel loose in Trew. He is known to me, and to all who
follow Windameir. Your own elder's wife has been struck
down by this man you say you will follow. 1 have no more
words for you, except be careful of your hide when next we
meet, my boy. My heart aches with the sorrow of this, but I
will hold my hand only this once. If I hear you've crossed the
Edges into Trew, by the Goat of Elmarda, I'll see you gutted
like a mountain trout."

"A good show, coming from one so long in favor with the
powers that be, my commander. We shall see what we shall,
but you haven't seen me do any such thing as you have
accused me of. I will ask for an apology from you next
council session."

"You shall have it, Nashet, if I see you there. I shall
announce to one and all what I suspected, and offer you my
public apology for casting a shadow across your good
character."

The older man looked at his lieutenant with an intensity
that caused Nashet to drop his eyes and stand up suddenly,
moving away from the table. He paused at the door, looking
away into the gathering darkness. "It will be a bit light
tonight for moving about with raiders nearby. Why don't
you have your men bivouac with us? It would drive off
anyone who might be holding on to an idea of attacking
tonight."

"My camp is already made at the Crossing of Garret's
Slide. We are expected there before the moon is down.'*

"Then don't let me keep you, good Stearborn. We both

A Renegade Squadron                 129

have our men to look to, and a picket to set out. But don't
say 1 didn't warn you about the raiders, if you run into
trouble. It was a large party, and I dare say they would give
even you a run for your hide. These are no fresh lambs that
are crossing the borders now."

"I'll take your warning to heart, Nashet. I sense in it
more than enough ill-will to keep me properly at my guard."

"It's only a fair warning, commander. My father didn't
go completely wrong when he raised me."

Stearborn moved swiftly to the shelter door, pulling at his
cloak as he did so. He withdrew his signal horn and sent
three sharp notes up into the still air of the settling evening,
which called all his men to their saddles.

"Off, lads! Up, me bucks, we've got clearer business
elsewhere in the Line tonight. Get me out of this accursed
pesthole, so that I may breathe freely again!"

The huge commander mounted in the blink of an eye, and
had spurred his mount away from the shelter of Nashet,
causing a knot of men who had been lingering there to
scatter before him, like leaves before an autumn wind.

"Good riddance," Nashet called out, shaking his fist after
the retreating form of the horseman, who was followed into
the gathering gloom by his men. -

"That was bad timing, Nashet. We can't have covered our
trades so well if all this end of the wood has heard of the
offers this Largo fellow is making. We're lucky Stearborn
didn't cleave all our heads."

"You're a bright one, Laron, always on the damp side of
an issue. Don't you think he would if he really had any
proof?"

"Where he caught us would be a fair clue as to our
intent."

"Our intent was to run down a raiding party. We lost
them and had to scout about for a new trail."

"Do you think he bought that cock-lolly story? Stearborn
has been around for a long time."

"He knew my father. That may have helped us. Accord-
ing to the commander of the Line, I'm a disgrace and a
blight on my father's good name."

130 RIPPLES ON THE RXVER

"Said that, did he?" asked Laron, stoking up the fire to
boil water for tea.

"That and more. I've stood still for all the maudlin stories
about my father that I'm going to stand. Living in the dead
past has gotten none of us anywhere, and day by day the
odds against us grow longer. When we heard of this fellow
that's operating in Trew, I first gave it no mind, but after
Silam and Orvis spoke to him, I'm curious to talk with him
myself. There is a ring of truth to what he has said about
Famhart and the others."

*Treason! You're dealing treason, Nashet. We had best be
sure of our road before we cut our bridges. If this fellow has
a leg to stand on, we might do ourselves well by siding with
him. I have no great love for Stearborn, or any of the other
commanders of the stewards of the Line, but I want to make
sure the ground I'm taking a stand on isn't quicksand. We'd
be finished chop-quick if we go over to this Largo, and find
out that he had lied."

"Does it sound to you like a lie? Come, come, Laron, the
man has braved everything to be able to retake what was
wrongfully stolen from him. I trust a man who has revenge
as his master! And his own sister sold him out! Linne, the
proper Linne, so pure and above reproach, tried to have her
own brother murdered so she would be the next in step to
take over her father's eldership."

"I don't make too much of that story, Nashet, I'm not
saying it might not be true, but I'd rather find the real cause
of all this bad blood. The reasons this fellow has don't
concern me so much as his chances of success in his
ambitions."

"Always the realist, eh, Laron? That's why I've always
taken such a liking to that warped brain of yours. You
always cut through the emotional tripe to get to the real core
of a matter. Cut it to the bone and see what makes it turn!
That's not a bad philosophy these days, my friend. I shall be
wise to keep my eye turned to those strange visions that you
see."

"I don't think you'll do yourself any harm in pursuing

A Renegade Squadron                 131

that policy, Nashet. I may have my little faults, but failure
isn't one of them."
i     The two men laughed.

"That's it, Laron! We shall have our tea now, and see to
our troops. We'll wait long enough here to give the good
commander of the Line long enough to be clear of our
perimeters, then we shall set our lads back to the task at
hand."

"Preparing to trail those raiders, even if it means crossing
the Edges to catch them! Stout Nashet! Brave squadron!
Bully good lads!"

"Sound out the muster, Laron! Let's see what our for-
tunes are waiting to reveal across the Edges. We have long
lived in the shadows of a past that has died and left us long
1   ago. If there is to be anything for us, any glory, let us step
for it boldly, and throw our lots with the new dawn of
Argent!"

"Hear, hear, Nashet. If all that be true, our fortunes are
\   well made. No more dreary duty and forever eating from
our stirrups riding with the Stearborns and his likes."

Laron laughed an off-key, disagreeable laugh and stepped
out of the shelter to call the troops gathered about to
muster. He was known to be a prudent man, and not given
to excesses, which he prided himself on, but he had begun to
1   feel in his later years that he was undervalued and over-
looked when it came time for promotions and honors. Time
and time again, he had been overlooked or ignored, and as
he grew into mature adulthood, he saw the other stewards of
the Line rise up in stature among the ranks, and a small
burr of resentment had grown and grown, until he found no
guilt in doing whatever he could to turn the tide of lost
opportunity to his favor.

He blew the notes of muster, and went back into the
shelter to finish his tea and help Nashet lay out their line of
march into Trew, which made him feel somewhat apprehen-
sive. There were old tales of that country, and none of them
were pretty, but Orvis and Silam had scouted the area, and
:   even met with the new leader that had come to free them all
from a past history that doomed them to forever riding the

132 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

bleak borders of the Line, from youth to old age, without so
much as a thank-you handshake from the order of elders
who had ruled from ancient times until the present.

"Old orders, old ideas," muttered Laron to himself.

"What's that?" asked Nashet.

"Just promises to ourselves, Nashet! We shall shake these
fetters they've held us with for all these years. All we need is
the right timing."

"And a good headstart," added Nashet. "Send out a
scout to see if Stearborn is away. He's a sly old boot. I
wouldn't put it past him to be lurking, about out there to see
what we're up to. Once we know it's clear, then we shall see
to ourselves,"

There was a short commotion then, and a rider was
dispatched. Camp was broken, and the shelter was struck,
and the squadron of Nashet prepared to resume their
march.

It wasn't a long wait for the scout to return with the all
clear, and in another short space of time, the riders were
mounted and lost in the darker eaves of the wood, which
bordered the outer regions of Trew.

The Bow and Harp

From the top of the tree he had climbed to get a better
picture of his surroundings, Kegin searched the wood for
any sign of intruders. An eerie silence had fallen since their
journey had begun at dawn, and there were no signs of
animals or birds, which disturbed Emerald.

"What do you make of it?" Owen called up, in a guarded
whisper.

Kegin motioned for the lad to be quiet, and went on with

The Bow and Harp                153

his search of the woods- A strong sense of danger kept
tickling the hair on the nape of his neck.

"Can you see the markers for the Edges?" whispered
Emerald. "We should be nearing them now. I've tried to
keep our bearings marked as well as I can on Owen's chart,
and according to what I remember of this wood, we should
be very near the crossing for Trew."

Owen put a hand on Emerald's sleeve-

"We can't lose our way now. Emerald! My mother's life
depends on us!"

"Hush, lad! Old Emerald never gets lost. We may not
know where we are for a bit, but you can't lose a trail once
you're on it. You have to remember that when it seems the
darkest."

"I don't know what that has to do with losing our trail, or
finding Gillerman and Wallach, but I know if we fail, my
mother will stay the way she is. We can't fail her!"

"No need to fret over a failure that hasn't happened,
Owen. Think of it only as that we haven't succeeded yet."

"We've been wandering about like this for a week now. If
Trew is so hard to find, it may be because we haven't gone
far enough yet."

Darek had been standing quieriy beside Owen, drawing
figures on the floor of the forest with a long stick.

"It might be that the map you have is wrong," he sug-
gested. "None of the landmarks appear anywhere in the
wood like .they are on that map."

"That is an old chart, Darek," said Emerald. "That was
drawn up in a time when there were bigger settlements in all
parts of the country, from the coast to the mountains. Time
will have put a different face on a lot of old landmarks."

"But we would see something that would give us a clue,"
persisted the youth.

"My master does not leave important matters to chance.
If he has given this chart to Owen, it was with purpose. It is
simply a matter of us finding our way to where it is this map
shows the likeness of. Trew was never well known to many,
and I don't recall it being mapped in any great detail. What
may have happened, is that we might have crossed the

134 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

Edges already, without knowing it, and be in Trew. instead
of trying to find it."

Owen's eyes widened. "I hadn't thought of that! That
would explain the absence of any of the landmarks that
would be on the map. but not in truth. No one travels here,
so we could have passed the borders back there somewhere
and not known it."

Emerald whistled Kegin down, and the comrades spread
Gillerman's chart before them on the fragrant forest floor.

"None of it makes any sense, I tell you," insisted Kegin.
"I'm familiar enough with my own borders to know whether
or not I've crossed them."

"No doubt, Kegin. If we were traveling in the lower pan
of the Line, I should imagine there would be no problem. I
haven't been up this way in a long while, and I can see the
country has suffered from the invaders' hand all these years.
It could be that the forest has simply reclaimed its own."

"Nothing would grow so fast that you couldn't tell a new
stand of timber," argued Kegin.

"Perhaps not in an ordinary time or place, but we are
talking of Trew now. Once you pass Lost Falls, everything
changes. I've never been sure of what exactly it was, but I
could always tell I was in a different place. It made my
hackles creep, just like they are now."

"You've felt it, too?" asked Kegin, looking about the close
wall of the forest. "I've been feeling it now for a while. It's
,very slow to come to your attention."

Owen and Darek nodded agreement.

"I wasn't sure what it was at first, but I definitely feel it
now. I wish we could find a way out of this wood."

"We'll be out soon enough, Darek. Even if we've strayed
into Trew, and are in the Edges, we'll come out sooner or
later, and near where we need to be."

"You're an odd fish. Emerald. Doesn't any of this upset
you?"

"No sense in getting into a froth over being lost, Kegin.
We shall have to come out of this wood sooner or later, and
when we do, we shall know how true this chart really is. All

The Bow and Harp

135

we have to do is find someplace or something that would be
evident, so that we can locate it squarely on the map."

Kegin squatted down next to the chart, studying it
closely. "All I can make out of any of it, is that if we get
near those places we're likely to recognize, we may be in a
bit of trouble. Look! See this? Rogen Keep." Kegin looked
at Emerald evenly. "Those are things that I'm sure you
must have heard of?"

"The Rogen? Of course."

"What do you speak of?" asked Owen, his eyes wander-
ing over the map.

"Here," said Kegin, pointing out a small spot on the
unrolled chart. "Rogen Keep. It is said to be guarded by
souls without bodies that drink the blood of the living."

"I've never heard that," said Darek. "Where did these
things come from?"

"They are supposed to be the staves of the doom-snakes.
They were the poor unfortunate souls that were captured by
the Purge."

"But there are no more dragons," said Owen. "How could
someone stay a slave of those monsters after they were
destroyed?"

Emerald began rolling the chart up as he spoke.

"The Purge, or doom-snakes, disappeared, Owen. What
happened to them, no one can be sure, but they weren't
destroyed. They were called back, perhaps, but the fear of
them is hidden deep in the hearts of all men. It's like a
sickness. If it is unchecked, it can grow into a physical thing.
The Rogen were given great powers by the Purge, and never
did surrender them when all was lost after the Middle
Islands."

"You mean when my mother and father were there?"
asked Owen.

"Exactly. Somehow there is still a splinter of Darkness
that has kept the Rogen locked into that black night they
live in. They have remained that way for so long, they must
destroy other living things so they won't feet the pain of that
living death they lead."

"Is that anything like the story of the Red Bear?" asked

136 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

Darek. "Linne said she would explain about that, but she
got sick before she could."

"Do you know about that, Owen?" asked Emerald.

"Only that there is a feast, and everyone gets up in arms
and it seems to make everyone very angry."

"That's a part of it. It goes back to a tale told of the
brother of Borim Bruinthor, one of the Keepers. It was said
that every season, there would be a feast held in honor of
those who had fallen in with the Darkness, to help guide
those poor lost ones back to the Light of Windameir."

"It is not that way now," snapped Kegin. "The Red Bear
is a sign of war, and a way to rally everyone to arms."

'That's the way of it in these times, Kegin, but it was a
sad day to celebrate in the beginning of it. Even Borim*s
own half brother was lost to the Darkness. It was a day to
call out to all those forgotten ones to come back'to the true
Light."

"Was Borim the bear king?" asked Darek.

"Yes, my young friend, he was the mightiest of all. The
Bruinthor that lives in a hundred songs, from one country to
the next. A Keeper of the highest order."

"Do you know any of those songs?" asked Owen. "I think
my mother may have sung some of them for me when I was
small."

"I know all of them." Emerald laughed. "And when we
get somewhere I think is safe enough, I'll treat you to all of
them."

The minstrel patted the case that carried his harp, and
put it back beside the quiver of arrows for his longbow.

"We may have more need for the bow that the harp," said
Kegin, in a tone of voice that alerted the others. "I'm not so
sure who our visitors are, but I know they're out there."

"Do you see anything?" breathed Owen, peering into the
dense wood that seemed to have crept slowly closer to them.

"I don't like this," went on Kegin, moving to rise- "Chart
or no chart, we're lost, and I don't like the feel of this wood."

"I think we may as well go on. There's nothing to be
gained by staying here any longer. If there are spies about,

The Bow and Harp                137

there's no need to go secretly. Whoever our friends are,
we're no news to them now."

Emerald began to remount, then thought better of it.

"Maybe we should walk the animals for a while. They
could use a breather."

"1 could use a breather from this confounded silence,"
complained Kegin. "It's enough to drive you daft."

"When we reach the end of the Edges, I'm sure we'll find
our way easier."

"ffwe reach the end of the Edges, Emerald. We have yet
to confirm that we're even there yet."

"Oh, I think we're here- Look at Owen's sword! See how
it's beginning to put off that light! Pull it out, lad! Let's see
what news we have from Gillerman."

Owen had begun to feel a faint pulsing hum from his side,
then when he looked down, he saw that the sword had
indeed begun to emit the same blue-white light he had seen
before. As Emerald spoke, he had drawn it from the simple
scabbard, but had to turn his eyes aside from the dazzling
white brilliance that flickered and leaped along the keen
blade.

A harsh scream tore through the curtain of silence like a
knife, causing the companions te start badly. The mounts
tried to bolt, almost jerking the reins from Owen's hand.

"Acccch, put out that accursed sticker!" snarled a voice,
which fell off into a whining growl.

"Put it out, we say! Put it out, or we can't be liable for
what we shall have to do!" came a second voice, very close to
Owen's side.

He whirled, holding aloft the pulsing, white-hot blade.
"Gillerman?" cried the lad, not knowing how to address the
odd strangers, or whether he was merely talking to the
empty air.

"Strike! Strike, Owen!" shouted Kegin. "Stand to, lad,
like I showed you!"

In a moment. Emerald was with Owen, his own sword
drawn. There was a fire in the minstrel's eye that reflected
the white flame in the depths of the sword, which caused the
youth to wonder at the seemingly gentle singer.

158 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

At once, a half dozen figures lunged out of the heavy
undergrowth beneath the tall trees, shrieking and howling in
guttural animal sounds-

Darek tripped and fell at Kegin's feet, which caused the
seasoned veteran to fall heavily just as two wildly swinging
attackers reached him.

"Blast you, lad! Look to it," he cried, rolling away to his
left to avoid the vicious swordstrokes, which fell harmlessly
on a fallen log.

Emerald engaged three of their assailants, driving them
back with a furious flurry of strokes, and as he fell back to
Owen's side, a horn was heard away in the wood, blowing
shrilly, in short, urgent notes.

"Recall! Recall!" cried a voice, and as quickly as the
small company had been set on, they were left alone again,
and the same, dripping silence that had been before began
to return.

"What do you make of all that?" asked Kegin, dusting
himself off, and making sure Darek was unharmed.

"I don't know, but look! Owen's sword has gone still!"
said Emerald, pointing to the blade in the youth's hand.

"What strange thing is this marvelous weapon?" asked
Kegin, coming to inspect the sword. "I think it frightened
those bounders away. I was almost blinded by it, myself."

"So was I," put in Darek. "I couldn't see where I was
stepping."

Kegin turned a serious face to his young student. "You
could have been my death, sprout. I shall have to teach you
better footwork before any of the others see you. I'd never
live it down if any of my other aspiring soldiers heard that
Kegin had stooped so low as to allow one of his students to
cause his head to be split up like cord wood."

"I'm s-sorry," stammered Darek. "I just couldn't see for a
bit there when he pulled the sword out. The light blinded
me."

"It's of no matter now," said Emerald. "Whoever our
good friends were, they're gone. Now we need to see to our
own stirrups. I don't think they're gone so far as to not have
to worry about them."

The Bow and Harp                139

"Look, Kegin. There where you're standing! One of them
must have dropped it!"

Owen bent and picked up a small dagger that lay at
Kegin's feet.

"What strange markings," mused Kegin. "And I don't
recall seeing any weapons shaped like this in a long life of
wearing a sword in the duty of Line Steward."

Emerald took the dagger from Owen and examined it
carefully, going over the blade and handle with extreme
caution.

"A good thing you weren't knicked with this, Kegin! This
has been dipped in something, and I'd wager you my life
that it's poison, or a drug of some sort to stun an enemy."

"What sort are we dealing with here?" Kegin whistled.
"First we've got a sword that plays at lantern, then a wood
full of blighters that carry pricks with poison. I don't think I
like these parts any too much. The quicker we get through
them, the better."

Subdued by Kegin's outburst, Darek sat down wearily in
the fragrant smelling leaves. He was playing with a large
pine cone, when Emerald whirled and flung himself across
the lad's body.

As the two crashed flat into the soft earth, the distant
whisper of a small shaft sighed through the silence, and
Owen saw the dart bury itself in a tree behind where the two
had fallen.

"Emerald! Darek! Are you all right?"

"I'm sorry, Darek," apologized the minstrel. "When you
were playing with that cone there, I saw the trip beneath the
leaves. It is a clever and deadly device I've seen before. They
have a small crossbow set there, behind that tree, aimed at a
point on the trail so that a horse or man would trigger it.
Cruel little piece of business. No doubt the bolt is tipped
with poison, too."

"I like this less as time goes on. Emerald. We've got
Famhart's son here, and I'm responsible if anything should
happen to us."

"I'm s-scared," stuttered Darek. "I want to get away
from here."

140 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

"Easy, old man," soothed Emerald. "We just have to take
it easy. Now that we know this place is full of this little trick
we've seen, and that whoever attacked us had to get out the
same way we will, all we have to do is snoop around and
follow that lead."

"Great," snorted Kegin. "I didn't happen to see anyone
leaving any markers on the trail for us, or scattering any
invitations to follow them."

"Maybe the sword would work again to lead us," sug-
gested Owen. "If it lit up like that to warn us about the
attack, maybe it would warn us about traps!"

"It's worth a try, Owen. We can also keep our eyes to
where we put our feet. Anything at all that looks unnatural,
or like someone has disturbed anything, just stop and point
it out."

"What about those cutthroats? Do you think they were
really frightened off? It sounded more like someone signaled
to break off."

"I think you're right on both accounts, Kegin. Whoever
signaled may have seen the sword as well."

"I'd feel better if we had a few days travel already
between us and this unhealthy place. I never thought I'd be
a one to spurn the sight of trees, but I could distinctly use a
little wide open space now."

"It doesn't seem so bad when I think about the wood
around Sweet Rock," agreed Owen. "This place almost
suffocates you."

"Single file, lads," Ordered Emerald. "We're going to see
if we can't find our way out of here. Owen, come up here
with me on my horse, and keep Gillerman's blade out. We
might have noticed something sooner, if we had been paying
attention to our business."

"Come up behind me, Darek. If we're going on this way,
it might be better to have you where you can't get into too
much trouble."

"I'm sorry, Kegin. I really couldn't see." The lad began to
tremble, fighting hard to hold back the tears.

"Here, lad! It's all past now. I know you didn't mean it.
I'll just have to work all the harder to make sure I teach you

The Bow and Harp                141

the proper way of handling yourself when the going gets a
bit sticky."

"We'll get to that when we're out of this pickle, Kegin.
It's something to look forward to, lad, so don't fret yourself
about it too much. I once caused my old teacher to lose a
tooth by my clumsiness."
"You, Emerald?" asked Owen, incredulous.
"Myself, indeed. It wasn't an easy thing to live down, I
can assure you. I shall most likely be reminded of it again,
when next we cross the trail of our friend Gillerman."

"I wish he was here with us now," said Owen wistfully,
"I'd feel a lot better about everything. I'm still worried
about my mother, and I don't know where my father is, or if
he's well and safe."

"Don't worry yourself on Famhart's account, sprout,"
assured Kegin. "This sort of thing is as easy as breathing to
him. There's nothing he or Stearborn likes any better than a
good rousing campaign."

"I wish Stearborn was with us, too," added Owen. "And I
wish we were already in the country where the Three Trees
are, so we could get a leaf to bring back to my mother."

Emerald gave the lad a long,, searching look. "It shall
come to pass, my small fry, if we keep steady to our course,
and don't fall to the wayside because of faint hearts."

Owen couldn't be sure of the meaning of the remark, and
was on the verge of questioning him about it further, but a
new and more ominous sound had begun in the woods ahead
of them. In a slow and steady fashion, the minstrel guided
his mount along the faint trail, watching for signs of danger
ahead and alongside, while keeping his eye trained for any
change in the longsword that his young companion held out
before them, like a lamp to guide them safely through the
danger-ridden woods that had swallowed the afternoon, and
left them going forward in nothing more than a dim twi-
light, which was rapidly fading.

The cries and calls came at the same instant that Owen
noticed the sword begin to flicker and flare in the gloom.
"Steady, lad," cautioned Emerald, and he spurred the

142 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

horse on, leading Kegin and Darek on into the darker
reaches of the lost wilderness that was the Edges, on the
borders of Trew.

Baiting a Trap

The march had been long and exhausting, and Famhart had
driven the men relentlessly, although they had not com-
plained. Linne was considered one of the first heroes of the
Line, and none of the soldiers considered it anything other
than a great honor to be among those Famhart had hand-
picked to try to find aid for his stricken wife.

Famhart had at first followed along the Green Road
toward White Bird, in hopes of finding one of the healers
that resided there. To their disappointment, they were told
that the old man in question had followed a band of soldiers
earlier, who were marching along the edge of the Wastes of
Leech, on their way to the Tybo River Valley.

No one could offer any more specific clue than that, and
amid all the refugees that were making their way further
away from the threatened borders, Famhart could discover
no one who could give him reason for any of the Line
Stewards to be sent off on a mission so impossible or danger-
ous as the Tybo River Valley, or suggest why an expedition
had been mounted without having consulted Famhart at
Sweet Rock, who headed one of the strongest squadrons of
all in the defense of the Line.

"It doesn't make any sense at all, Alac. What sort of tale
is all this?"

"1 don't know, sir. None of the people we questioned
could offer anything other than what they told you."

"Do you have any scouts set out?"

Baiting a Trap                    143

"Three, sir. One has gone down the coast to Swan Haven,
and one is off up the Tybo to see if those customers left
anything behind that we might read, and one is scouting
down the other way on the coast, to the west, to see if there's
anything we overlooked there."

Famhart nodded absently, looking away across the flat
blue surface of the South Roaring. "It's like a lake today,"
he said at last, startling his subaltern.

"Sir?"

"A lake. It looks like a lake today. But I have seen it
otherwise."

"I'm sure you have, sir."

"When Linne and I crossed to the Middle Islands, we saw
a storm that sent waves higher than an oak. I never thought
I'd stand ashore on solid ground again."

"How did you escape?"

"By the luck of Windameir, and the seamanship of great
sailors, lad. And we were aboard vessels that were laid by
skilled hands."

"And luck, sir?" asked Alac.

Famhart laughed. "Aye, and some luck, Alac. Luck of
the sort that comes from hard work and a right cause- There
were cruel things afoot then, that I doubt I've seen the last
of. Sometimes you can put memories away for a time, but
there is always a place somewhere down the line where they
reach back out and touch you."

"Like how, sir?" questioned the lad.

"Sometimes it might be sitting at table with your family.
and it's no more than the way someone asks you to pass the
bread. That's all it takes." Famhart paused, smiling. "Or it
might be like this, lad, sitting here as I've so often done,
talking with my lieutenant."

"What was it like in the Middle Islands? Was Kegin
there?"

Famhart shook his head. "No, but he has been with the
stewards since they were formed in Sweet Rock, and seen
more action than he would have agreed to."

"Do they really come out of the air at you, sir, breathing
fire?"

144 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

"Do what come out of the air?" asked Famhart.

"The doom-snakes, sir. Everyone always said you and
your lady fought one of the Purge."

"It was the worst thing I have ever had to face, Alac. If it
hadn't been for Borim and Olthar, and Trianion, and the
key of Brian, the world as we know it would have perished
away and been no more."

"Were they as brave as the stories say?"

"Braver, my lad, by tenfold. You don't know the meaning
of courage until you have stood beside the likes of those
four."

Famharfs tale was interrupted by a thin man dressed in a
riding cloak that was wet and torn.

"Standin, what is it? Speak up, man, what news?"

"I've got a piece of information that won't sit well, Alac.
I've Just come back from up the Tybo a few miles, and
there's a staging up there for transporting anyone who
wants to go upriver."

"Up the Tybo? But that's a road that would run you
straight up into the Bitter Roots, and the Plains of Grief, or
the South Channels!"

"Aye, that it is, sir. The word is that there's a fee waiting
for any able-bodied man of the squadrons of the Line who
will make his way up there to join a blighter calling himself
Argent Largo."

"Where did you come by all this? Quickly, man!"

"It's pretty widespread, sir-1 had begun hearing bits of it
this morning when we questioned the refugees about the
healer. Some of the blokes said he went of his own doing,
and there was another side said he was forced against his
will."

"You mean they took him prisoner?" asked Alac.

"It begins to look that way, sir. There was a special
bounty to be paid for all healers and loremasters and such."

Famhart slapped his hand with his riding crop. "A new
twist to this devil's web! Now we begin to see what lies in
store for us. Go on, man, what else have you learned?"

"Only that some of the squadrons have been at it tooth

Baiting a Trafi                     145

and nail, and there are stories that some of them have
deserted and gone over."

"Treason," breathed Alac softly-

"They said they were only returning to their true origins.
This fellow up there claims to have been the rightful heir to
the throne long ago abandoned, when the South Channels
was ruled by the Lord of Eight."

"What rubbish is that? Did they say who this Lord of
Eight was?" questioned Famhart.

"He was a king that had come in search of the Three
Trees, and stayed on in the South Channels on his way
home. His son and daughter were left behind, but when he
tried to send for them, the daughter plotted to kill her
brother, and rule alone as heiress to the throne."

"What a pack of lies Largo has come up with," said
Famhart, pacing furiously up and back beside the small fire
they had used to brew their tea.

A fly had landed on the lid of the honey jar, and become
stuck in the sweet, dark streaks.

"There is a lesson to be had there, Alac," said Famhart,
directing the attention of his two companions to the plight of
the trapped insect.

"Sir?"

"Look at it. It senses food, and plenty of it. The aroma is
sweet, and it promises freedom from want. All you have to
do is come to the jar and get it. Now look! The poor beggar
is doomed by the very thing that promised to feed him!"

"I don't see what you mean, sir. What has a fly to do with
anything?"

"Nothing, lad," Famhart laughed. "It only reminded me
of Largo in the South Channels, determined to avenge
himself for a wrong he thought was done him. Only now it
all begins to look like a giant pot of honey."

"What does, sir?"

"Revenge," said Famhart simply. "To return to the scene
of a bitter defeat, and make your enemies pay."

"But who is this Argent Largo? Why has he attacked the
Line? I thought only the raiders from over the borders had
any interest in us."

146 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

"Largo is my wife's brother, Alac. He was thought to be
lost, before the battle of the Middle Islands. But the forces
of the Darkness plucked him away, and I'm sure he is a
perfect tool in the plot for revenge."

"Whose revenge? I'm not so sure I understand any of
this."

"You will, Standin. Kegin didn't have time to fill you in
on all the lore when he was teaching you to tend your
weapons."

"All we got from him were lumps and harsh words,"
grumbled Alac. "He is a hard taskmaster.'*

"But he may have given you the ability to stay alive when
the going is rough."

"I would have preferred more lore-learning."

"You say that now in jest, Standin. Wait until the day
comes when there will be nothing between you and whether
or not there will be any lore left to carry on, when only your
sword hand, or bow shot will make the difference."

"Revenge and lore, and flies in the honey! It's enough to
confuse anyone," complained Alac.

"It begins to make more sense, after I've heard the news
of the offers Largo has made. That has opened up an avenue
I had thought closed years ago. It also is another chance to
fix it. I may just go along for this all the way, and approach
Largo as a lad who would come to collect the fee he has
offered to any of those who would join him."

Standin and Alac were astounded, standing speechless,
with their mouths open.

"You can't mean that, sir!"

"Oh, but I do! Why, it would be a chance to see some
country we haven't seen before, and to put our eye to the
sore spot of all this troubled wood. We'd know for certain of
our enemies, and how the deck lies stacked against us."

"But what of our kin? What will they think if they hear
we have gone over the Edges? I couldn't think of letting my
sister and mother believe that of me! And you, sir, your wife
has been struck down by this villain you say is the very one
you will go to see!"

"Of course we shall get word to the settlement, and all

Baiting a Tra/f                     147

our kin, Standin. That would be too cruel a blow, as you
say."

"But how shall we send word? One of us shall have to
return to the camp, then catch back up with our party on the
trail."

"Too long, Alac. It would take too long to go about this in
that manner. If we ride, it will be tonight. There's no time to
be lost. We shall draw up the lads, and the youngest shall go
back with our intentions, so that Kegin can keep abreast of
what we're up to."

"None of the lads will want to be singled out for that
duty, sir. It will seem a job better left to one of the settle-
ment's womenfolk."

"They'll get over that thinking. And I don't want to force
anyone along with me who doesn't want to go. This is really
a job for myself alone, but I don't think I would be able to
bluff my way into Trew alone. It would seem more reasona-
ble if 1 were a squadron commander come with my men to
collect the fat bounty being held out as a lure."

"Then make it a draw, sir, with all of us equal. That way
none of us will feel the worse for it if we have to be the one to
return to bear the news of our plan."

"That trip alone won't be a dance, Atac. We have covered
a good plot of ground since we left, and there are signs all
about us that there are plenty of raiders loose in the Line."

"One man will be faster, and draw less attention, sir. That
should prove no problem."

"Good lad! Then we shall draw lots. Sound the rest out,
and muster them here."

"Aye, sir," said Alac, standing up and setting off to carry
out his mission.

Famhart stirred up a small packet of the wonderful pow-
der that Brian Brandigore had given him long ago in the
Middle Islands. As he mixed it, he remembered the words
the dwarf had spoken, and said them aloud to himself.

"Whenever there is weariness, or sorrow, or spirits low,
drink up this draught with the blessings of Round Hat, the
last of the kings underground." He lifted his cup and drank.
"I shall have need of all its powers, old friend."

148 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

"What is it you're talking of, sir?" asked Standin.

"The powder, my lad. It was given to Linne and me at the
battle of the Middle Islands. A dwarf by the name of
Brandigore had thought to thank me by giving me this-
Wonderful stuffi Mixed up by his folk in the depths of the
earth for as long as they had been about."

"Dwarfs, sir? You mean the half-ones?"

"Dwarfs," corrected Famhart. "Kegin has many holes' in
his teachings, but I can't fault the man. I know he has had
his hands full with this lot."

"They actually existed?" pursued Standin, not to be put
off.

"They did, and in many places. It was a grand sight to see
one of their armies there, helmets and axes a burnished sea
of name in the sunlight, glowering and looking like death
itself."

Standin had never dared to ask his commander about the
old times, although he heard various accounts of the veter-
ans of the Line, who had fought in that long ago war.

"There were so many of the dwarfish clans, the boats had
to make return trips all night along to land them, lad. What
a sight it was."

"Was Linne there, too?" asked the young .man, then
wishing he hadn't when he saw the look of pain that crossed
Famhart's face.

"Aye, lad. She's a fierce warrior, on any account- I met
her when she was a prisoner bound for my father."

"The Bog Hat elder?"

"Aye, lad. It was a strange enough meeting, I assure you.
She almost knifed me before it was all over."

Standin was unable to cover his shock, but was saved by
the arrival of Alac, and the clamor of the others of the
squadron gathering about.

"All present, sir. Tamlock is squaring the lots to be
drawn. We'll make it so the one who goes can't be missed."

"Have you told them what we're up to?"

"Yes, sir."

"What do you think, Alac? Any ideas? Do we have any
bright ones who don't want to go along with the plan?"

Baiting a Trap                    149

"Sir?" asked his young subaltern, looking confused.

"I'll find out when we draw lots, Alac, See to it we have
our stores in order, and plenty of water for the march. Once
we're into Trew, we'll have to be extra careful about what
we pick up to eat or drink. There have always been nasty
tales about poisoned water and bad meat. I've got something
that will help us along that line, but no one is to eat or drink
anything without first clearing it with me. Clear?"

"Aye, sir."

"Good. Let's see to our other business."

Famhart strode briskly to the center of the gathered
circle, and raised his hands above his head to call for quiet.
There were questions called out to him from all sides, but he
finally brought the group to order, and was able to make
himself heard.

"I suppose some of you don't like the new plan," he
began, and had to wait until the grumbling subsided before
he could continue. "We are going under wraps, lads, to the
very heart of this affair. We have to find out exactly what
we're up against, and who is holding the knife to our throat.
You all know my wife is in a death sleep brought on by an
enemy who calls himself Argent Largo. This blighter is in
Trew somewhere, and that's one of the places we know the
raiders are coming from. We also know that there are
rumors of bounties being paid for anyone from the Line who
joins with this Largo, to overthrow what's left of the settle-
ments in all the lands below the borders that are still free."

"How do we know this fellow won't spot us for spies and
have done with us?" asked a young man standing next to
Alac.

"For the simple reason that I'm who I am. If I read my
man right, he will relish the idea of having Famhart coming
to call upon him. And 1 still have a fancy that somehow or
other, I might yet sway him."

Famhart put his hands behind his back and paced a few
steps, thinking intensely.

"No, we shall have no trouble arriving. Getting out may
be another story."

"Then what good would we serve by handing ourselves

150 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

over to our enemies?'* asked the youth, a clear-eyed young
man not much older than Owen.

"I have no intention of turning ourselves over to the
enemy. I said getting out would be another story, not impos-
sible. We have to find out the nature of our problem before
we can begin to remedy it."

"Then we'd best be drawing lots to find who is to advise
Kegin and the others of what we're about," said Mac.

"Right you are, lad. Set the hat there, and have each of
you pull out a marker. The cross and star shall tell the tale.
Whoever gets that mark shall have a ride back to the others
to keep them up on our whereabouts, and what we shall be
up to."

Famhart's features softened then, and his voice was a
tone more removed. "And whoever goes, be sure to look in
on Linne for me, and make sure she gets this."

He had removed a ring from his left hand, and rolled it
about his open palm-

The drawing began then, with a lot of complaints and
protests, but it went quickly until a slender, blond young
man with the faint traces of a beard, raised his hand with a
groan.

"I have the blasted thing." he lamented. "Leave it to
Clede to fetch out this wretched chore."

"Now you can rush back into dear Nina's embrace, you
dog, while the rest of us will be facing no telling what
dangers."

"He speaks the truth, Clede," went on another young
warrior. "We shall come home covered with glory, only to
find you've won over the hearts of all the eligible maidens
who are left of the old settlement of Sweet Rock."

"That's what a steward of the Line is supposed to do,"
argued Clede. "Gather honor to his name, not be lolling
about camp with the womenfolk."

Famhart laughed as he approached the youngster. "You
have taken all Kegin's teaching to heart, Clede. I shall tell
him about this when next we cross paths. He has done an
admirable job."

Baiting a Trap                    151

"Hold off, sir, until we hear this all again after our first
encounter. Blood runs high, until cold steel comes into

play-"

"And what of it, Alac? Do you think that there are those
of us that won't be able to pull our weight when the time
comes for it?"

"All I say is that we shall see who has done what when the
first blow falls, Clede. It won't affect you in the least,
though, since you shall be safe back in a snug shelter with
Nina."

Clede's face flushed a bright red, and he edged forward
toward Alac with clenched fists.

"You've gone far enough with your jest, Alac. This is a
job that needs to be done, and there's no certainty that it is
one that will be safe. We don't know who or what roams the
wood between here and where we left the others. It shall
take a stout heart to leave here alone and go all the way
back without a single friend to ride with."

"Maybe we should send two," offered Standin. "If what
you say is true, sir, then it would be foolhardy to send a man
atone."

As Famhart turned the question over in his mind, Clede
protested.

"To send two men to do a single job is uncalled for. Two
together might keep each other company, but it wouldn't be
enough of an edge to counter a force of a dozen men or
more, and that's when speed is more to my liking. One can
go faster, then, so let me go atone, and you'll have the extra
body here, where you shall need it. I shall be perfectly safe. 1
know these parts, and have a shortcut in mind that will take
me back quickly. I'll be home in three days time."

"You have a good point, Clede," agreed Famhart. "I
follow your logic for all of it, and tend to agree with you.
Take what stores you need, and get some rest. You can leave
when we've watered the horses and had our meal."

The young man saluted smartly, and whirled on his heel
to find his supplies and tend to his kit before departure.
Famhart led Standin and Alac to the small fire, where a
quick meal had been prepared. "We'll see to our stomachs,

152 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

and then to our saddles. We've got a long trail ahead of us,
and we shall have to begin to act tike lads that have seen it
quits with the stewards of the Line. There's no way of telling
whether or not we're being watched, even now."

"This is strange, coming from you, sir," said Alac.

"Not so strange, when you consider that it might serve
the Line better than if we swore allegiance twelve times over
every day, but could do nothing about stopping the threat
which hovers unhindered beyond our borders."

Famhart took up a bowl of the hot stew then, and fell into
a silence so deep that his two lieutenants were afraid to
disturb him, and he remained in such a withdrawn state
until Clede came to report that he was ready to leave on his
mission.

The elder of Sweet Rock listened with half an ear, then
put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Don't stray from
your course, Clede. We're depending on you to alert the
others. You can also tell them to wait for further orders from
me, as soon as we're in touch with Argent Largo. That will
be the turning point of it all, I feel. Once that contact is
made, then we shall be down to business in earnest."

Famhart gave Ciede the ring for Linne, shook his hand
and watched while he mounted and rode away, turning
frequently to wave, until a denser patch of forest blocked his
view.

The larger party waited for a few minutes more, listening
until the last of the tone horse's hoofbeats had died away,
then moved off toward the cold and inhospitable north,
following the swift waters of the Lower Tybo.

Chaos at the Rher

From the inner depths of the domed mounds, an eerie music
filled the night with soft moans and sighs, like the cries of
some ancient wind, trapped beneath the dark earth. Lights
moved about in the eaves of the wood that ringed the
mounds, and a dim rushlamp could be seen clearly, as
though an invisible hand were carrying it.

Largo stood beside the silent hooded figure in the hour
after midnight, feeling for his sword beneath the long cloak.

"It is the Lord Trew's entourage," explained his compan-
ion, a pale blond woman, with startling blue eyes.

"I thought your king was dead," remarked Largo, trying
to pierce the gloom to see how the mysterious figures man-
aged their small deceptions.

"He has gone beyond the last of the world's end to count
the stars," corrected the woman. "Lord Trew cannot die.
None of us can."

"That is a thing I would know of, Elita. If I could but
master that, all my troubles would be over."

He felt the dark heartbeat within him then, and recalled
with satisfaction how he had been given back his life by the
Dark One, with a promise of sweet revenge on all those who
had betrayed him. His sister was the first he had struck
down, with the help of the Lady Elita, the strange follower
of the Lord of Trew. She had shown him the vehicle for his
revenge.

"Do you have any other trinkets like the brooch you gave

153

154 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

me? I have taken a great fancy to that way of working my
displeasure on those who are my enemies."

"Do you have other enemies who threaten you. Largo? I
hope it's not so."

"My treacherous sister was my greatest danger. If she has
taken the bait as you think she will have, then that is the
most serious problem solved. The rest is as simple as march-
ing with an army down below the borders to claim that
country for our own."

"We have a country here, dear one. Trew is wild and
lovely. There are no sorrows here. There can never be tears
or partings here. The sleep of the dreamer is swift and
painless, and it cannot bring fear when it visits. We shall be
laid side by side one day, here where the outer doors to the
mounds lead down into the hallway of the stars.1'

"That is a lovely thought. Lady Elita, but I don't intend
to allow myself that pleasure for many years to come. I have
too much to see before I can enjoy the sweet repose you
speak of."

"Must you do what you say. Largo? That is all taken care
of now. No one can hurt you here. Trew is unkind to her
enemies."

Largo reached out and took the pale hand, smiling. "I
shall count on that to be so, Elita. There are those who will
find out that they have not succeeded in their treason
against me, and will try to find me."

The lights in the dark wood flared up, as though an
invisible breath had swept through on unseen wings. A
higher keen began, from somewhere inside the mounds.
Steps, carved and laid by masons, led down into the
passages, and the women descended a few paces downward.

"Come with me. Largo. We shall place the Cross of
Locust on the altar of my king's life. He shall be with you to
protect you then. No enemy can deal with the Lord of
Trew."

"Are you going down there? It sounds as though we're not
wanted."

"Those' are the watchers- They make that noise to
frighten away any who do not belong."

Chaos at the River                   155

- "Is that all they do?" asked Largo cautiously.

"Oh no, by no means. They have powers that even I can't
tell you of. They have been long at their task, and they have
done it well. There has never been a single time that any of
our sleeping chambers have been disturbed."

"Are these watchers controlled by you?"

"Yes, sometimes. I can speak to them. Anyone who is of
Trew can,"

"Could you teach me?"

"You? Why would you want to learn of this?"

"I was just curious, my lady. It seems such a fascinating
idea, these watchers. I would like to see them at their work."

"I don't think it would be too pleasant a thing. Largo.
There are things that aren't meant to be witnessed by eyes
that are still in our poor human shapes."

"You mean they are so horrible as all that?" persisted
Largo.

"Not horrible, exactly. No, I wouldn't say they are so
horrible, but they take strange forms, and they have been
known to drive men beyond the boundary of madness. They
catch at that thin curtain we have to protect ourselves, and
rip it asunder."

"Now you really have my curiosity awakened. These
watchers sound as though they would be a better weapon
than all the armies 1 could muster from mankind."

"They cannot leave Trew," said the woman simply. "I
don't think they would be able to exist even beyond these
shrines."

Largo's hopes fell. "Oh? Surely there must be some way
they could be moved about."

"They aren't meant to be moved about, Largo. When
they were brought into existence by Lord Trew, he only gave
them form and shape for this job they were to do."

"Then your king knew how to call up these watchers?"

"Yes."

"Can you do that as well?"

"Why would I call up watchers? They are here, right
where they're needed."

156 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

"But if they should ever be needed, Elita? Could you call
them up then?"

"If Trew was in danger, I could. Any one of us could."

Largo smiled and kissed the pale hand- "The Lord of
Trew would be proud of his subject, Elita. You are truly a
grace to your country."

"Trew only asks that her subjects be of stout heart, and to
follow the edicts of what has been the Truth and Way for all
time. The Lord Trew himself has found that these are only
knaves and tyrants outside our boundaries here."

"Your king was a wise man, my lady. You will be well
advised to continue on with that policy. There are great
armies gathering in the lands beyond, and they are as
bloodthirsty and evil as the Lord Trew was kind and wise
and good."

"Where are these armies coming from, Largo? You mean
they intend to invade Trew?" Elita's eyes were wide, and
her breath came in shallow gulps.

"Not to invade Trew, EHta! To destroy Trew, and slay all
those who dwell here!"

"How do you know this. Largo? Have you been in the
lands beyond?"

"Before I found safe haven here, my lady, I was pursued
by the tyrants who would put me to death. I was a marked
man, singled out by the underlings of my sister. When they
found out that I had escaped the cowardly trap they had set
for me, they marked me openly for death. It was only my
good fortune that has led me to Trew, and safety."

"You shall be safe here with us. Largo. The Rogen have
long guarded the Edges, and until you survived that meeting
you had with one, no other soul has escaped them. That was
the main reason I think the aldermen let you live."

"Just causes are always favored, my lady. When that is
no longer the case, I hope 1 shall have no breath left to my
body."

"Don't speak of that Largo! You shall have a long and full
life here in Trew. I can see to it that you shall one day sit
upon the Court of the Sacred Oak. You will be safe from

Chaos at the River                   157

your enemies, and we shall perhaps find our way into the
lost hills behind the moon, where Lord Trew has gone."

Largo found himself falling under the speil of the deep
blue eyes of the pale woman, and a part of him that had
been haunted and hidden by the breath of the dragon stirred
for a moment.

"It shall be as you say, my lady. You have proved yourself
to be a valuable friend. In helping me deal a blow back at
my sister, you have helped me strike as the very core of the
enemies' strength. With her out of the way, we shall find out
whether or not the precious stewards shall be able to retain
control of the Line."

"Where have you sent my kinsmen? Are they all still
beyond our boundaries?"

"They have done a small favor for me, my lady. They
have delivered word to any and all they chance upon that
Argent Largo is alive and well in Trew, and will pay a fat
sum to everyone who will join him in overthrowing the rule
of my tyrant sister, who robbed me of my birthright, and
tried to slay me in the bargain."

Elita had pulled the cowl back from her head, and stood a
pale, ghostly figure in the dim shadow of light cast from the
rushlamps in the corridor. "Do you think any of these men
will come?"

"They shall! I can promise you that. And we shall need to
keep the Rogen at bay, at least until we sort the true from
the false."

"How will you be able to tell that. Largo? Can you read
the thoughts of people so easily?"

Largo laughed, although his eyes were cold and gray. "I
have my own secrets, Elita. You have your ways, and so do I.
It shall not fail me."

He was fingering the amulet at his neck, and as he
touched the cold scale of the dragon, he felt a short, hot
blast of foul breath down his back.

"Trew is not a middle ground for your battles. Largo. You
have been a guest here, and we have extended our courtesy
and hospitality to you without reservations. I have spoken
for you in the Hall of the Alderman, and to the others who

158 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

doubted your story. They accuse me of being smitten by
your charm, but I can't help believe what you've told me is
so. The Rogen make no mistakes, and you were a sign sent
to us. No one has ever escaped the Rogen."

"I am a sign sent to you, Elita- We shall have our world to
rule together, once this injustice is righted. Your people will
be free once more to go and come as they please, withput
having to resort to such horrors as the Rogen, or the watch-
ers, to keep their borders safe. Then we shall be at our
leisure to pursue your Lord Trew, and to find the way that
he's gone, and to ponder the mysteries behind the stillness of
the grave."

"Come with me. Largo," whispered Elita. "Come to the
Second Level. There are the singers there, who tell tales of
the forgotten world."

Largo felt her hand in his, tugging him gently toward the
stone vault at one end of the long, damp corridor.

The amulet had begun to grow hotter at his throat, and in
the closeness of the tunnel, he was panic-stricken for a
moment, being unable to breathe. "I must go up, Elita. This
tunnel seems to grow in upon me. I can't stand these small
places!"

He stumbled up the entryway, and stood gasping in the
stillness of the open air. The starlight seemed to blind him
after the gloom of the tomb.

"It's the same every time," he stammered, as Elita hur-
ried to his side. "That was the way my sister tried to murder
me, at the crypt of my father."

"How dreadful," said Elita. "You poor soul. So much has
happened to turn you to this plot for revenge. I can under-
stand more of it now."

"I don't want to burden you with any of this, my lady. It's
just that sometimes I can't quiet my heart. It's like a
firestorm in the forest. It bums until there is nothing left at
all."

"We have healers here. Largo, who can help you. There
are ways to forget all these wrongs that were done you."

"I don't want to forget, Elita! Can't you see that? I have

Chaos at the River                   159

to make the wrongs right, or I shall never be able to rest
again."

"There are other things in life than the righting of
wrongs. You could live here in Trew without ever another
thought of your sister. She has fallen into the death-sleep, so
there is no more that you need do. It is a fitting punishment
for her crime."

"But how can I be sure? If I could be certain, then I
might think otherwise. When I have proof that she is indeed
under the spell you told me of, then I shall look at my life in
different terms."

Elita smiled hopefully.

"Then we shall wait for my kinsmen who have gone to
deliver your messages. They will have all the news from
beyond Trew."

"Yol^re right, my lady. Now I want to see this Hall of the
Alderman you've told me of."

"It is only for the aldermen. Largo- Even if you were a son
of Trew, you wouldn't be allowed to see it until your twenty-
seventh nameday."

"There would be no harm in it, Elita. No one has to
know."

"But I would know! There's no-harm in your asking, for
you are an outsider. You don't know the Code, so you
couldn't know what you ask me to do. But you know it now,
so don't press me any further, I beg." Elita was crying
softly, her eyes turning a more startling blue.

Largo shrugged his shoulders and grasped her hand. "Of
course not, sweet lady. I did not know I was pressing you so
in the matter. Where I come from, a hall of elders is just
that, nothing more. Anyone is free to go or leave there as
they please."

"This is Trew! There are things we do here that have
always been different than others. The Lord Trew himself
set that tradition when he closed the borders, and began to
seal off the outside world, with all its ugliness."

"One can't stay away from things that are ugly, Elita.
That is the way of this life of ours."

"Perhaps yours. Largo, but we in Trew see things in a

160 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

different light. You will too, once you have come to know us
better, and understand our ways."

"Perhaps I shall, at that," he said, preferring to drop the
subject for the moment, until he could try and find another
approach to the tender question of the mysterious hall.
Whatever was there, it might prove of use to him in his
budding plans for the invasion of the lowlands-

"Come with me now, and we shall see the floating lights
on the river. They are the most beautiful on nights when it is
so dark."

"Lights? Like the ones we saw in the wood?"

"Very similar, but not the same. No one knows for sure
why they are there. The Lord Trew tried to discover the
secret for himself, but he was never able to pierce the
mystery."

"There are lights on the river?"

"Yes, at certain times of the year. This is the time that we
often see them the most. A week ago, the Silver was so
bright, it looked as though the water was white gold, and the
shorelight on both sides was as bright as noontide."

"What could cause such a thing?" asked Largo.

"There are stories from the olden days, about the dream-
ers, but no one ever saw them. or heard the music that clan
is supposed to be so well handy with."

"Dreamers? Music? What clan do you speak of, Elita? Is
it a race from beyond Trcw?"

"From beyond anywhere that we know. The Lord Trew
once sat fasting for twelve days and nights on the shores of
the Silver, but no clues were given as to what it all meant.
That was very hard for him."

"It would be hard for anyone, if it is as dazzling as you
say it is- Is there no one who could explain the mysteries?
Surely, someone must have an idea?"

"There are those who always have ideas of everything,
but it is not always wise to speak too loudly on things that
are not to be spoken of."

"Superstition, my lady, nothing more. If I see these lights
you speak of, you can be assured that Argent Largo won't

Chaos at the River                   161

rest until he has an answer in his mind that fits ail the
questions."

Elita looked down shyly. "Have you answers to all the
questions in your life?"

"That is a strange one, coming from you. How do you
mean it?"

"Only that you seem so sure of everything, and yet there
are things about you I see which puzzle me."

A leaden feeling of apprehension crept over Largo at that
moment, and he darted a quick sideways glance at the
woman.

"Why do you look at me so? It makes me feel quite
strange."

"I'm sorry, my lady. For a moment I thought I heard
something."

Elita held the small, finely wrought rushlamp up, and
peered about apprehensively. "What could it be?"

Largo eased the longsword at his side slowly out of its
scabbard, and paced a few steps out into the edge of the
flickering light. "Someone who is trying to spy on our
movements, no doubt. Do you have any enemies, Elita? Or
suitors?" Largo turned back toward her, his mind off on a
.   new tack.
]     "Trew has no enemies but the outsiders."

"What of the Rogen?"

"You saw what happened to her. They will not attack one
from Trew. That is the way it has always been."

"You mean those things only feed off outlanders?"

"You were in the gravest of dangers. Largo. The fact that
you escaped with your life was the one thing in favor of you
being allowed to stay on in Trew."

"I don't think this was the Rogen," he went on, bending
^   down suddenly, and picking up an object from the dew-wet
ground.

"What is it?" asked Elita, trying to see the small limp
object.

"It looks like a band from a quiver, my lady."
'     "A what?"

162 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

"A stopper for your bolts. A cloth to keep the arrows from
coming out of a quiver."

The woman took the cloth from Largo's hand, holding it
close to the lamp so she could see it more plainly. "I can
make nothing of it. I*ve never heard of anything like you
describe.'*

"Then do you recognize it for anything you're familiar
with?"

"It might be a cloth from the altars at the river. When the
lights appear, we set a table for whoever it might be, in case
they might need food or drink. This looks like one of the
cloths."

"Let's go to the river. I'd like to see what you're speaking
of."

"It's not far. We can be there in a short walk. Listen! You
can hear the water now. It always sounds louder the later it
gets."

"I didn't notice it so much before. I'm surprised I didn't
hear it."

"The trees do funny things with the sound sometimes,"
said Elita, holding the lamp out before them, to show the
path they were following.

"I guess they do. What I would like to know now, is how
this cloth got from the river to where we found it? No
matter what purpose it serves, it certainly didn't get from
the riverbank to where we found it by itself."

"There may be others who are out for a walk tonight.
Everyone in Trew loves the nighttime. It always has been
that way."

"A strange habit."

"Strange, perhaps, but true, all the same. Some say it
happened when Lord Trew began to keep his hours after
dark, instead of carrying on his business by day."

Largo watched the woman as she talked on, and won-
dered to himself if the habit of living by night caused her
eyes to change to the startling blue. He had seen others of
the settlement with their cowls drawn carefully over their
faces, as though the light hurt their eyes, but he couldn't be

Chaos at the River                   165

sure of anything of these strange beings who had befriended
him.

"It might be the Wornel," she went on, breaking in on
Largo's thoughts.

"Who are they? Are they something like the Rogen?"

**0h, no, these are the animals who dwell in Trew. They
are subjects, like all of us."

"The animals?" asked Largo, walking close beside her
now.

"The Womel. They befriended Lord Trew when he
banned all killing here."

"The venison we had was certainly killed by someone!"

"That wasn't venison. Largo. It tasted that way to you,
but it was not an animal that was slain."

"By the breath of the Purge, what do you people do? You
live by darkness, and say you don't eat animal flesh, and
speak of lights on the river in the middle of the night."

Elita placed a hand on Largo's arm. "We are the Children
of Trew. It is the way of things here. You must not be
concerned about how strange we seem to you. And remem-
ber, you seem as strange to us!"

Largo nodded in agreement. "When I first met you, I
„   thought I had fallen in with a company of fools."

"We knew not what to think of you. It wasn't until you
survived your meeting with the Rogen that we knew you
were different from all the others who live outside Trew."

"Were you leading me to the Rogen when we first met?"

Elita looked down, lowering the rushlamp. "Yes. It is our
duty to take outsiders to the Rogen."

"Well, I'm glad it all came to a cheerful end, my lady. I
can't blame you for doing your duty, but I'm glad things
didn't work out as planned."

!      "So am I, Largo. That is all the more reason for you to
stay with us here in Trew. There is hope here. It is gone,
outside."

"How can you speak of things you know nothing of, my
>   lady?"
'     "Your own story bears me out! Where is the sanity and

164 RIPPLES ON THE RIVER

order in a world that allows sisters and brothers to murder
each other! And for what?"

"Your point is well taken, my lady. Yet there are other
things that are not quite so horrible, which are very compel-
ling, and attract you to them, again and again."

Largo's eyes lit up in the dark as he spoke, and a strange
look transformed his features into an eager mask of
anticipation.

"I won't ask you further. Largo. I feel a strange attraction
to you which might draw me away from my ideals as a child
of Trew. I feel I have already done too much in showing you
the tombs. I begin to doubt what I have been taught all my
life, and that frightens me."

Largo was on the verge of speaking, when they came into
a clearing that bordered the river, and the rushlamp was
swallowed by the brightness of sparkling lights that danced
in the clear, icy depths of the water.

There was another sound then, of music, which tore at
Largo's skull, forcing him to take deep breaths to keep
himself from screaming aloud in pain. The notes soared,
then fell away, but they left a hard echo in his heart, which
made each gulp of air seem a flaming hot iron to his lungs.
The amulet at his neck became red hot next to his skin, and
for a moment, he thought it would burn through his shirt
and cloak.

He turned to the woman and called to her for a drink in a
voice which sent her hurrying to obey his request. Elita knelt
to dip a small cup into the Silver, but the fragile piece
seemed to catch fire in the process, and she fell back
stunned,

Largo gathered his cloak up about him then, and ran as
fast as his stumbling legs would carry him, back toward the
settlement of Trew, and away from the terrible roar of the
chaos at the river.

THE CHALLENGE
OF THE
STEWARDS

Trial by Fire

Tiny rivers of sweat dropped off Kegin's eyebrows as he
crouched waiting, and he had an overwhelming desire to
sneeze. A few yards away. Emerald was poised, his bow at
the ready. Owen and Darek were further along in the trees,
longsword and dagger drawn.

Another horn call broke the stillness of the soggy morn-
ing, which was gray and overcast. The noise died away, but
was followed quickly by answering notes from all directions.
Some were flat and harsh, and others were high and clear,
but they all spoke of a large party traveling through the
wood, spread out in what seemed a battle line, to listen to
the signals that passed among the unseen units.

There were human sounds then, and the muffled tread of
horses being led, and the distinct clink and squeak of pack
gear and weapons.

Owen whispered hoarsely to Emerald. "Can you see any-
thing yet? Are any of our squadrons operating here?"

"Shhhhh," cautioned the older man, motioning with a
hand to stay put and remain quiet.

"What did he say?" questioned Darek, his voice pinched
with the tension.

"Shhhh," repeated Owen. "We have to stay put."

"What if it is our squadrons?" asked Darek. "They could
go right past and never know we're here."

"Friend or foe, the/11 both know we're here if we don't
shut up our yapping."

Owen made an impatient face and turned back to his
scrutiny of the trail.

Drops of rain that had fallen earlier dripped slowly down

166

Trial by Fire                       167

'through the thick growth overhead, making it difficult to
hear the softer sounds that came from further away.

A distant rumble of thunder promised another storm was
awakening in the new morning, and the knowledge did not
give comfort to the companions as they lay in hiding, await-
ing the arrival of the unseen army that was moving through
the forest just at the first part of dawn.

Emerald had notched an arrow to his bow, and strained to
see through the dense gray gloom. "Look alive, Kegin!
Horsemen directly in front of us!"

Kegin nodded and eased his longsword out. His grip
tightened on the hilt until he could feel the cold steel become
a part of his heartbeat.

A shadowy form began to emerge from the wet green
background, mounted, with a heavy riding cloak drawn up
over the head, making it impossible to see the face of the
rider, or the nature of his gear-

"Blast the luck," breathed Kegin. "The blighter is going
to be on top of us before we can say for certain who he is."

Another figure loomed out of the wood behind the first,
followed by another close on his heels.

Kegin gave the signal they had devised, should they have
to fight for their lives, and the companions readied them-
selves for action. Emerald drew down on the lead rider, and
waited for the man to get close so there would be no chance
for a miss, Kegin was then to pull the man out of the saddle
and set off, causing those behind to give pursuit, when Owen
and Darek would stand to and draw the attention of those
who followed, giving Emerald a chance of another sure shot.

The cloaked rider appeared closer now, and Owen's heart
hammered in his throat, and he couldn't swallow. The sound
of his breathing was so loud he was sure it would give them
away, but the mounted man came on, unaware of the
danger.

Just at that moment, one of the horses behind Darek
snorted and gave a tentative little greeting to the stranger's
mount. There was an immediate air of electric tension, and
the rider had thrown back his cloak to draw his longsword.

In that brief instant. Emerald recognized the coat of arms

168 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

of an outlaw chieftan from the Wastes of Leech, and let fly
with the deadly shaft in his hand. The flight of the arrow
was swift and true, and the enemy rider was struck down so
suddenly he never had a chance to whimper or cry out.

Kegin was on the man instantly, hauling the lifeless body
from the saddle and mounting in one fluid movement. He
had no need to spur the frightened horse, and was away
before the other riders behind him could react to the sudden
onslaught of the attack-
One of the men started to raise a horn to his tips, but
Owen stood up at that moment and walked slowly toward
him, the Gillerman's longsword held out before him like
some religious relic.

The man's cowl was thrown back, revealing a head of
dark hair, and a close-cropped beard. It was not a handsome
face, but it was not what Owen had expected either, and he
hesitated for an instant, unsure of what to do next.

As Emerald's second shaft flew, the man spurred his
horse toward Owen, to trample the lad beneath the animal's
hooves-
Owen leaped aside as the horse and rider thundered down
on him, noticing as he did that the sword had begun to glow
a fiery white along the edges, and the same, low hum was
throbbing through the blade, making it at once hard to hold,
and yet impossible to let go.

Owen wished he had had time to learn more of the skills
of the weapon, but he grasped the handle resolutely with
both hands, and brought it above his head to strike at the
charging horseman. The heavy body of the rider bore the
youth to the ground, and he was struggling wildly to escape
from the suffocating weight, when his hand felt the shaft of
the arrow, buried to the feathers in the man's chest. He
fought to control himself to keep from crying out aloud, and
pulled himself painfully from beneath the still twitching
corpse.

"Here, Owen; Up lad! We still have work to do!"
Emerald was holding the shying horse's rein, trying to
calm the animal so that he could mount. His face was

Trial by Fire

169

almost serene as he worked with the horse, while Owen got
to his feet with a wobbly effort, panting.

"There is another one coming," he gasped, looking over
the shoulder of his friend.

"I hear him. Kegin will have a clean shot at him."

"Duck! There's one there!" cried Darek, pointing with a
violent motion to his left.

An arrow hissed by, crackling as it passed, and buried
itself in a tree not a foot from Emerald's head.

"Blast and dash it! Hop to, lad! Get cover! If he comes
this way, slash at him from hiding."

Emerald was mounted in another flash, and had jerked
the shying horse around and spurred it on.

Another arrow narrowly missed Darek, who seemed fro-
zen in his tracks next to the body of the first horseman.

"Down, Darek! We have to come on them by surprise."

His words fell on deaf ears, and the orphaned lad contin-
ued to stare as if in a trance.

Owen heard the rider coming, and knelt behind a thick,
sweet-smelling bush, his hands gripping the longsword with
all the strength he could muster.

"Help!" cried Darek, sensing his danger as the rider bore
down on his small figure.

As the horse came on, Owen clenched his teeth and tried
to time his blow just right, waiting until the last moment
and swinging the gleaming blade through a high arc, at
about where he thought the mounted rider's knee would be.

There was a jarring crash that almost tore his arms from
their sockets, then the scream of a horse, that was followed
by cursing, and the swooshing sound of a blade being swung
with great force,

Owen rolled away instinctively, and watched the rider try
to regain control of his spooked mount- Blood was spurting
from the man's leg, just below the boot top, and the horse
reared and pawed the air, nostrils flaring and eyes wild with
fear and pain-

"Jump, Darek!" cried Owen, although his voice sounded
thin as a reed. He didn't think anyone could hear him, it
sounded so small.

170 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

Darek remained frozen where he was, and only a lucky,
glancing blow from the rearing horse's flank saved the boy
from being cleaved in two by the swordstroke the rider
directed at the lad's head.

After another struggle to control his mount, Owen saw
the man regain his saddle and whirl about, turning away
from the area where he had been ambushed, and disappear
into the gray eave of the wood away to his right.

Owen ran after the retreating form, waving his useless
blade, his heart sinking within him. "I've let him escape!
Now Kegin and Emerald will have another one to deal with.
I'm no help at all'"

He remembered Darek then, and hurried back to see if
the lad was wounded.

"I'm all right, really I am," protested Darek, pulling
himself up from his knees and dusting himself off. "It was a
good thing his horse turned when he did, or I'd have been
finished."

"Didn't you hear me yell? I tried to warn you."

"I just seemed to be glued to the spot," said Darek. "I
thought I was running, but I couldn't get anything to move."

"My father said that happens when ifs your first time."

"It doesn't seem like anything moves at all, and then it
goes so fast you can't do anything about it."

"I couldn't get my sword high enough to strike a good
blow," lamented Owen. "That fellow got away, and now
Kegin and Emerald will have to deal with him before he can
warn the others."

"You wounded him, Owen! I saw the blood."

"This isn't at all what I thought it was going to be like,"
said Owen, sitting down wearily. It felt as though his mouth
were full of ashes, and his limbs all gone to stone.

Darek's eyes were still wide with excitement. "Where do
you think Emerald has gotten to? And Kegin? Did they
leave us?"

Owen shook his head without looking up, studying the
sword in his hand. "They haven't left us, Darek- We have to
get the horses now, and go on until we meet them. This place
is full of danger for us."

Trial by Fire                       171

"But if we leave now, we may get lost from Emerald and
Kegin."

"We have to move, Darek. You can see we aren't safe
here."

The youth looked about like a trapped animal. "They will
be coming back for us. We must wait for them!"

"The others will be coming back too, and they aren't
going to be pleased with anyone they find here." Owen stood
shakily, testing his legs. "We'd better go over the two Emer-
ald shot. They may have news of something we might have
need of."

"You mean touch those dead things?" asked Darek,
cringing at the thought of it.

"It is what a soldier of the Line is taught to do. We must
find out all we can. We need to know who they are, and
where they've come from, and how many they are."

"I can't touch them! It's not right."

"Right or not, I must see if they have anything about
them that will help us. Come on! You don't have to do
anything but stand watch for me. Can you do that?"

"Yes."

"And bring the horses. We've got to get away from this
place."

Owen crossed the clearing stiffly and approached the first
of the horsemen struck down by Emerald's bowshot. He was
surprised at the lack of blood on the man's chest, but he
recoiled when he rolled the body over, for there was the
damp red pool, glistening on the soft earth.

The lad could make nothing of the manner of dress, or the
insignia, and for a terrifying instant, the thought ran
through his mind that they had slain one of their own, from
a far distant squadron, so as to be unrecognizable in a
moment of quick decision.

Owen tormented himself with that until he came upon the
leather pouch at the man's waist, and the contents inside.
There were vials, sealed with wax, with a skull and cross-
bones painted on it, and a scrap of paper which was instruc-
tion on dipping a knife, or sword, or arrow point.

The man's face, although glazed and distant in death, was

172 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

not a cruel one, which puzzled Owen. He thought it would
have been easier if this enemy had been a Gorgolac or
Worlugh warrior he had read of.

"Owen!" came a shrill cry, then another, cut off before it
was finished.

Owen looked up in time to see a dismounted man send
Darek flying from a blow of his fist. The soldier was dressed
in a cloak of the same color as his fallen comrade, and' he
held a riding crop loosely in his gloved hand.

"You shoot passing well for a pair of whelps," said the
man. "I had thought we were set on by that accursed bunch
of filth from the Line."

Owen edged up from where he knelt, trying to remember
what it was that Kegin was always teaching his students
about keeping your adversary in front of you.

"We are from the Line," replied Owen, his throat dry-

The man threw back his head and scoffed. "This is what
they throw against us now, is it? T'will be easier than they
said. Whelps! Mere whelps! And I have no compunction
about drawing and quartering the both of you!"

"You might think differently if my father were here. Or
my friends."

"Friends? Friends, you say? Have you friends hereabouts
now, whelp? Speak out!"

"A hundred or more," lied Owen, hoping his voice didn't
give him away.

The man had drawn his sword, advancing on Owen.
"Then they will surely hurry to keep me from lopping off
that sassy young head of yours."

Owen drew the sword of Gillerman in an awkward move,
and tried to hold down the fear he felt.

"A cheeky whelp, I'll give you that. Your slab there is
almost as big as you." The man laughed and jumped over
his slain companion, confronting Owen. "Now, my piglet,
let me see how you propose to use that fine sticker."

He leaped at Owen, striking two broad strokes that drove
Owen backward clumsily, almost losing his footing.

"Well, they've not taught you much of how to use that
thing in the pure and upright almighty Line. Have they

Trial by Fire                       173

forgotten their sworn outcast enemies? Do they think they
can send women and children against us? Speak up, whelp!
This idea sends the gorge to my head."

"We only send the stewards of the Line against our
enemies, sir," replied Owen, baffled by the man's speech,
and afraid of his sword-

"The stewards! What a loathsome lot! What bloodsucking
leeches they have been! They have denied our countrymen
all for as long as we've lived on the Leech, but we have
sworn our vengeance! We shall join with the new leader in
the South Channels, and drive you filth from any hideouts
you may run to cower in."

"I've never heard of any injustice we have done to anyone
on the Leech," protested Owen, trying to keep the man
talking.

"You wouldn't, whelp. You and your kind are so almighty
pure and wise, it never occurred to any of you that your
upright and ironbound code might cause grief to those of us
who have had to scratch out an existence on that barren
land we were driven to."

"That is only where the outcasts are banished," replied
Owen. "The Line is merciful. We don't execute our
lawbreakers."

"Aha, you see!" screeched the man. "Only a whelp, and
you already have that down-your-nose way of preaching at
me!"

"Are you one of that lot who were exiled to the Leech?"
asked Owen,

"A man without a decent bed to call his own, or roof to
shelter him from the cruel rain. All my life I've been driven
from one downfall to the next, only trying to save my poor
body from perishing away from a lack of everything, and
then one day I happened to run afoul of your precious
stewards, curse their black hearts. All 1 wanted was a meal
from the settlement. A dog would deserve that! But they
pronounced me outcast, and rode me to the boundary of .the
Leech Plains, and cast me into the wilderness there, with
naught but my poor horse and a day's water."

"That is the law, sir," replied Owen, hoping to forestall

174 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

another attack until he could think of another plan, or in
hopes that perhaps Emerald or Kegin might come back in
time.

The man stood before him, sword held like a cane, sup-
porting himself by it as he talked. "Your pure and wise
stewards didn't take into account one thing, my piglet! They
never thought anyone could survive the Leech Wastes. But
they have missed their mark there, for there are hundreds of
us that found it to our mutual benefit to band together.
We've hired out to anyone with a grudge against the Line,
and now we've found the choke-hold we've been looking for
in a chap up toward the Channels. Promises booty to equal
our body weight, and a country to live where we don't have
to skulk about."

The man stopped, shaking his head.

"And now look at poor Bozzer here, all staked down like a
turkey dinner! He won't be there for the fun when we pick
the Line like a ripe apple!"

"I'm sorry about your friend, sir. He was trying to kill
us."

"Bozzer? Not that lad! Why, he's never harmed anyone
much. Poor sad sod, always the one to take everything he
got back to the missus and nipper."

The man acted as though he were drying a tear from his
eye.

"Poor old Bozzer! I've got to think of his missus and
nipper, so I'll thank you for that pouch back you took from
him."

A slow, cruel smile spread across the man's craggy face,
revealing a thin scar that split his upper lip, giving him a
grotesque appearance.

Owen looked down at the leather pouch in his hand, his
mind working quickly once more. "It's not much to trouble
yourself over, sir."

"Hand it over!" growled the man.

**If I give you the gold, will you let me keep the pouch?
It's all I ask."

"You can keep his boots, too, if you want. But I want the
coin and any other hard trinkets he had about him!"

Trial by Fire

175

Owen opened the pouch quickly, holding the vials in his
hand. It was awkward opening the wax seals, but he man-
aged it, being careful not to touch the light brown liquid
inside.

"Shall I throw the gold to you? I don't think I want to get
any closer than this."

"Aye, throw it, my piglet! If there's enough there, I might
even be tempted to let you live on as my slave. I have need of
a good stout boot-boy like you to help me with my arms and
mount. Good pay, too! A beating for you everytime I feel the
urge!"

The man threw back his head and roared in triumphant
laughter, which gave Owen the opening he had been waiting
for.

He launched himself at the man, getting leverage from
the body of the slain outcast, and as he leaped, he flung the
open vials in his hand into the face of the laughing soldier,
and followed on through with trying to get the sword of
Gillerman up into a defensive position.

Owen's aim was true, and some of the liquid had splashed
into the eyes of the man, who threw both his hands to his
face, screaming in agony. His sword was flung aside, and he
stumbled about blindly, finally tripping over his slain com-
panion, and falling into a writhing heap on the ground at
Owen's feet.

A voice from behind him frightened him so badly he
almost jumped out of his skin.

"Finish him, Owen. That poison you struck him with will
take hours to do for him. It's a terrible death! Give him the
mercy of a quick end."

It was Emerald, with Kegin beside him.

"You did fine, lad. It was the only thing you could have
hoped to have done against him. He was going to kill you
and Darek, once he had what he wanted from you. He was
toying with you."

"How long have you been here?" asked Owen.

"We saw it all, lad," replied Kegin.

"Why didn't you do something sooner?" cried Owen, in
anguish. "Now I shall have to strike him!"

176 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

"It is always a terrible thing, but it has to be dealt with.
Owen. The craft of a warrior is not all a playful lark. These
are the things you need to learn Owen, just as surely and
well as you learn your lessons at the handling of arms."

"But this! This is not what you teach, Kegin! This is a
helpless man!"

The man had screamed again, and rose to his feet, ranting
and pulling at his eyes in his pain. He suddenly drew a short
dagger from his belt, and lunged forward, toward the voices
he heard from in front of him.

Owen whirled just at the moment the man crashed heav-
ily forward, impaling himself on the sword the mysterious
old stranger had given him on that night in Sweet Rock,
when none of this nightmare he was living had come to be.

The man's eyes rolled wildly once, then the thin film of
death descended, leaving Owen struggling backward under
the weight of the sagging body. Emerald and Kegin helped
free him, and went to see to Darek, who was sitting up
holding a hand to his head, taking in everything that had
gone on in the small clearing- Owen tried not to look at the
man, but his eyes kept being drawn back, until at last he was
staring at the convulsed face, with the hand clutching at the
wound his sword had made.

He was on the verge of flinging the sword away from
himself, when the familiar humming started once more, and
the faint voice of Gillerman sounded almost at his ear. It
was so close and so real, Owen looked about him twice to
make sure the old man was not somewhere about.

"This is not the first time the elfin steel has slain. It won't
be the last. You are to remember that no matter how you try
to judge, there is no way the innocent can suffer by this
sword. It was forged in the fires of truth."

"I didn't want any of this to happen, Gillerman! It isn't
like I thought it would be!"

"It never is, lad. The emptiness you feel at taking life is a
sure sign that we have made no mistake in the value we
place on you. You are very near help now, lad. Quickly,
while the time is still there, ride on!"

There was a scene then of a lovely lake, and a strange

Trial by Fin                      177

woman who seemed to beckon to him. When Owen looked
again, the illusion of the sword was gone, and in its place
were the three tired faces of his companions.

After making what sense they could of the information
the outcasts of Leech had given them, and after another
search of the bodies, the friends mounted and left the
clearing, taking along the extra mounts, in case they should
need them somewhere along the way on their journey.

Darek rode next to Owen, but he said nothing, and looked
away everytime Owen turned to ask a question.

Emerald removed his harp then, and played odd tunes
and sang quick little ballads to amuse them, and one by one,
their thoughts turned away from the scene they had left
behind, and wondered at where their wandering would take
them next.

When they camped that evening, Darek wouldn't speak,
and ate his food quickly. Before Owen could move to him to
ask how his head was, the lad pretended to be asleep, rolled
tightly in his blanket with his back to Owen and the others.

"He is not well pleased with himself, Owen. He'll get over
this. It's hard to be half-man, half-boy. That is a big step to
take, and he hasn't reached the time yet when he will free
himself from this shame he feels."

"What shame?" asked Owen. "He has done nothing
wrong."

"I know. But he feels as though there is something more
he should be doing. It will pass. Being his age is more
difficult than learning how to find the lost pearls of the
Silent Sea."

Emerald smiled then, and played a haunting tune that
made Owen sad and happy at once.

As he went to sleep that night, his dreams were of wild-
eyed men in armor chasing him about, while Emerald
played on his harp, and the woman beside the still lake
appeared again, following him down into a troubled sleep,

Proposal for a Journey

Chellin Duchin watched the last of the river of refugees
pouring into the temporary settlement, where a fire had
been set ablaze to guide all the stragglers home. There were
women with tiny children, and frail-looking oldsters, wan-
dering about through the crowds, seeking the faces of lost
loved ones. Starboard and Port emerged from the milling
throng, and came to stand beside their friend.

"This is not a sight I had thought to ever see," said
Chellin, shaking his head.

"None of us ever thought it would come to this," replied
Port.

"None of us," echoed Starboard.

"Have you seen the rest of my slackards? They seem to
have gotten out from under my noose,"

"We saw them a moment ago, Chellin. They were asking
after any of the settlement of Sweet Rock."

"Good lads. They are trying to find Famhart. He's the
one we need now."

Port cracked a nut and chewed it noisily as he replied,
"No Famhart. No one has news of him."

"No one at all." repeated Starboard. "It's hard to make
anything out with all the ruckus going on."

"Hard to make anything out," repeated Port.

Chellin Duchin raised a weary hand. "You've given me
bad news, friends. I had hoped to meet with someone here

178

Profwsal for a Journey                   179

we might use to salt the tails of our fine bucks up in the
Channels, or maybe down toward the Wastes of Leech."

"You've got your cronies to go with you. Why do you need
to wait for any others?"

The brothers nodded in tandem, waiting for Chellin to
answer.

"Aye, I've got these dunderheads with me, hard as my lot
is. The lads don't have an inkling of a notion about lore, and
I can't say that that fault is not my own. I've neglected their
teaching for too long, 1 fear. They have no sense of place or
background, and if the subject is anything but weapons and
horses, you might as well be addressing a mule."

"They seemed the right sort, Chellin. I can't say 1 didn't
take a cotton to them."

Port and Starboard looked to each other in agreement.

"A right decent lot of chaps."

Chellin clasped his hands behind his back and paced to
and fro in front of his horse, which was grazing lazily at the
moment on a patch of sweet green grass.

"They're the right sort, and a fearless bunch, but they
need age to temper their hot heads. My only complaint has
ever been that they're too quick fo leap to a fracas before
they know the where or why of it all."

"Not bad recommendations to complain of in these
times," said Port.

"Not bad at all," added Starboard.

"I'd try to wrangle you two into going if I thought I could
get away with it."

"Where did you have in mind, Chellin? You're making a
long way around a short subject here."

"You're right. I go on sometimes, when what's needed is a
straight stroke to the heart of the matter. "

"There's the sure-fire trump to a confusion," agreed Port.
"Stand to and brace yourself for a hard blow, and drive her
in steady, so you hold a course."

"I'm thinking of altering my patrol once I get these poor
beggars safely out of harm's way. I keep thinking that our
answers are going to lie back in the direction we've just

180 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

come from. It's not in my nature to be leaving just when the
going is getting sticky."

"You've got a duty to these folk, Chellin. It's always been
a steward's sworn duty to protect any and all citizens of the
Line who are in danger, or in need of aid. That's what we
swore to when we raised the cup on our oath,"

"There's no question of leaving the camp here before we
see them safely settled. Starboard. And once that's done,
then our next duty is to seek out and drive off or destroy
whatever has caused the threat."

"Not so easy, in these times. No way to know which
direction to strike out in first. It was easier in the old days."

"Easier, and everybody knew what to do," said
Starboard. .

Chellin Duchin unrolled a set of charts wrapped in a
leather sheath, and spread them out on the ground. "Here's
my path. I want to deliver this settlement to safety, if that's
to be found anywhere, and then set my sights on the Silver.
I'd like to work my way back up on the borders of the Leech
Wastes, and take a look at what's been happening there. We
might get an idea of what we're dealing with here, and
everywhere else in the Line."

The brothers whistled, and shook their heads, casting long
looks at the map.

"That's harsh country you're talking of," said Port,

"Harsh country, brother," echoed Starboard.

"It's country you know something of," went on Chellin.
"Hamlin and Judge and Jeremy are too young to know
anything of Leech, or the goings-on up the Silver. I have
need of hands that have been at this puzzle for long enough
to know a thing or two."

"How many squadrons are you taking?" asked Port,
stroking his close-cropped beard, and staring at the chart.

"Only the one. The others will have to stay with the
camp."

"One squadron to go up the Silver, onto the Leech
Plains?" asked Starboard.

"That's all that can be spared," said Chellin. "I know it

Proposal for a Journey                   181

sounds like I've been frying my head in the sun too long, but
that's all I can spare for this errand."

"It's not enough to do it safely," argued Port.

"I don't care whether we do it safely or not,'* replied
Chellin. "I've never done anything safely since I signed on in
this mullhash affair. And I'm not thinking of an engage-
ment! That would be the last thing I'd pull with such poor
strength. All I'm interested in is the lay of the place, and
who's been there, and what's going on. I want to have a took
at both sides of the river, and a squadron is the right number
for that kind of a trip."

"If everyone is sweet, and gentle, and treats you nice,"
grumped Port. "And 1 don't think you're going to find too
many gents up that way that'll be inclined to cooperate."

"Not likely at all," said Starboard, slipping his dagger
out and cleaning a nail with the razor-edged point. "That
part of the country is like riding the edge of this blade,
Chellin! It's sharp on both sides of the Silver. And the river
hasn't seen a friendly face for more turnings than I care to
count."

"We couldn't count that high," said Port. "When we
came down the last time from seeing our mother, rest her
soul, the way was almost blocked with every sort of bandit
and cutthroat that was scratching a living out of poor
innocents who still dwelled there. My mother tried to keep
us from leaving, but we both enjoy the longshot, so here you
see us,"

"I wish I'd listened to her now," said Starboard.

"That's why I need you two. You have a nose for the
country, and you've made the trip. I haven't been up the
Silver any further than Lake Fork, and that's been some
time back. 1 left that area mostly to Florian, bless him, and
never had a complaint there until all those lads were lost at
Spirit Tarn. That's when I knew it was rough up there.
Those were not green fellows that could be dealt with
easily."

"I remember that," said Port grimly, "It was a black day
for the stewards."

182 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

"We will have our day," said Starboard. "A reckoning
always comes."

"Sometimes too soon, my friends. If we were to close with
our enemies now, we'd be in poor shape to deal with them.
Look at it, lads! A flock of frightened sheep, and over-
worked, overtired squadrons that are doing well to keep to
their saddles. Those that aren't tired are hungry, and the
rest haven't had a breather for weeks,"

**A good turnout at the camp will mend them," said Port.
"It's always the same after a few days in clean linen, and
hot meals to fortify your strength."

"Nothing like sleep and stew to make a new man out of
you," agreed Starboard. "Puts the steel back!"

"It may take more than sleep and food this time," said
Chellin. "This has been a long time coming. I've seen it in
the cards, but I tried not to look at it. Something has
changed over the years."

"What, Chellin? What change could there be?"

"You are one of the old school. Port. You and your brother
belong to my time, and the thoughts I keep. But the newer
bunch coming up isn't so sure of their ideas, or the direction
they want to travel in."

'That all comes right when they reach their age," argued
Starboard. "I guess we were the same when we were pups."

"Not by a long throw," said Chellin. "I'm talking about
something that is as hard to find as a bat in the dark. I can't
put my finger on it, but it creeps along the minute you turn
your head to look the other way."

"You've been harping on this too long, Chellin. I believe
you're starting to show signs of the grouch. Our mother,
bless her, always said that begins to come on when you
reach a certain place in turnings. The gray begins to cloud
your vision."

"We've seen the best of lads come down with a case of it,"
agreed Starboard. "The cure is always a good rest, and a
belief that everything eventually comes out straight in the
end, if you're square with your maker, and fair with your
friends."

Chellin let out a low chuckle, but his face remained

Proposed far a Journey                   183

drawn and haggard, "You two would rag my ear off if you
came along with us. I retract my call for assistance! I'm sure
you're needed much more right where you are."
The brothers shook their heads in unison.

"No, Chellin, you've convinced us we're needed, and
come along we will. It has been some time since we've put
flowers on our mother's tomb. It will be a good thing for us
to tag along with you, Chellin! If you are determined to get
a squadron butchered on the Plains of Leech, or the country
somewhere up the Silver, then we're the lads that want to be
there to remind you that we warned you against the trip."

"You'd go to those lengths, would you?" Chetlin laughed.
"Then by the sea-maiden's tail, you shall get your chance.
Bigger scoundrels than you two have tried to chastise old
Chellin before."

They were joined at this point by Jeremy and Hamlin and
Judge, who gruffly exchanged handclasps and greetings with
the brothers, but with a reserved gladness.

"These two have agreed to see us try the journey up the
Silver," said Chellin. "They've given me every reason there
is for not going, which only convinces me all the more that
the trip is necessary."

"Your logic is beyond anything-I've ever heard tell of,"
said Port-

"It always gets him his way," offered Hamlin. "No mat-
ter what you think at the moment, Chellin can have you
twisted about his little finger quicker than you could snap
off a bow shot. We've watched him work. We know this
rogue."

"Is it true?" asked Starboard.

"Always," said Chellin. "I gave up accepting anything
else long ago. There just seemed to be no more point to it."

"That's the right outlook, lads. Just ignore the worst of
this wicked time, and you can avoid any discomfort or fal-
de-hoop easy as rolling off a spooky mare."

"You should know. Judge! You've lived by that rule since
you were old enough to ride with the Line!"

"You're harsh, Chellin! I've always tried to follow your
lead."

184 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

Chellin Duchin bantered lightheartedly with his lieuten-
ants, but his eyes were troubled.

"Does this have something to do with the meeting we had
with the waterfolk at the lake?" asked Jeremy. "You've
been as closed as a clam, and you don't even chew on us as
often since then."

"Does it seem so, lad?" asked Chellin, concern in his
voice. "I hope I haven't fallen on such hard times that I
can't hide you all with my tongue anytime the feeling moves
me."

"There's no chance you've changed your ways at this late
date. If there's a reason, we'll know of it in due time, and
I'm sure it won't be a reason we can believe has to do with
our well-being."

"On the contrary, Jeremy, it has everything to do with
your welfare, as well as all the rest of us. The dreamers have
always been a guarded crowd, and they were never known to
have been open with mankind as we know it, except for the
times of the Middle Islands. Since then, they've retired
more and more from sight. It was unusual to have seen and
spoken with them at the lake. That told me that something
far beyond the usual ebb and tide is afoot, and that, as likely
as not, will be the death of us all."

"What are you speaking of?" asked Hamlin. "I assume
we're talking of the same meeting back at the lake?"

"The same."

"Then the water did shrink your reason. I can account for
it no other way!"

Chellin laughed, and pounded Jeremy on the back. "The
lad thought I'd gone and drowned myself back at the old
mill-grinders' lake," he explained.

"You were in the lake?" asked Starboard.

"Our mother always warned us about water! It eats the
dreams and turns your mind to mud," said Port.

"He doesn't even know how to swim," added Hamlin. "I
thought he'd slipped his wits, and was done for sure."

"Old Chellin Duchin is a long way from slipping his wits,
lads, but if ever anyone were driven to it by being sur-

Proposal for a journey                   185

rounded by a pack of empty-headed field sparrows. I'm the
man."

"What would make you go in the lake?" asked Starboard.

"That's what we all asked him," said Jeremy. "And then
as pretty as you please, and right out of nowhere, we were
staring at a bunch of ghosts from another time. 1 never saw
anything like it."

"They took back the burial cask Chellin had pulled out of
the lake, and disappeared in a golden boat," added Judge.

The brothers looked at each other, shrugging their
shoulders.

"It was the old mill-grinders' lake," explained Chellin.
"Those that used it in recent times never knew of the
history, or who had dwelled there long before them- To the
millers, it was convenient to the rice and grain harvest, and
that was that."

Chellin paused, smiling, "They never knew of the legend
that surrounds that place."

"Neither did we," complained Hamlin. "Until you went
through all the motions of drowning yourself there."

"Nor of the dreamers," Chellin went on. "It was a place
that I'd read of as a slip of a lad, full of the moonlore and
strange people who had long ago vanished. They filled my
thoughts as a young man, and I dreamed of one day search-
ing out all the sites in the Line that I knew went back to the
old days. The mill-grinders' lake was one of the first I
discovered."

"But you never went into the water before, did you? How
long had that burial cask been there?" asked Jeremy.

"A good question. That cask, and a shore full of tales,
confused me at first. I couldn't make out what was what at
the start, but as I read it afterward, I saw what had begun to
happen."

"Now you open up," grumbled Judge. "You were as silent
as that cask when we tried to find out about it then."

"I was thinking, my boy. It's a habit you should become
better acquainted with. It might sit well with that impatient
head of yours."

186 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

"What were the signs on the shore, Chellin?" asked
Starboard, doggedly pursuing his friend for an answer.

Chellin Duchin sighed heavily, and sat down, laying his
shoulder back against his saddle. "We've been chasing one
band of renegades or another for all our lives, yet never
really knowing any more than that they are raiders from one
of our borders or another, and that they have been outcasts
from civilized older communities, or some of the ancient
invaders from the wilder countries beyond the Malignes.
That satisfied me for the first turnings I was a steward, but
as time grew on, and changes began, I looked backward to
the loremasters to try to find answers to some of my
questions."

"Questions about what?"

"Questions about the clues to the riddle. Port. Questions
as to where the Darkness had gone after the battle of the
Middle Islands, and why there had never been any word of
where those who had fought there were."

"You mean what happended to the other races who
fought for the High King?"

Chellin nodded, his eyes seeing nothing of his surround-
ings- "My own father had spoken of seeing a host of elfin
horsemen once, so dazzling to the eye he couldn't stand to
watch them full on. They had swept over a hill in the Middle
Islands that was afire by the terrible beauty of the fair
ones."

"I've never heard you talk like this, Chellin," said Ham-
Un. "All this time we've been together, I always thought you
were just a pig-headed old relic who liked the duty of Line
Steward because it was lonely work, and you could spend
your time away from the settlements and crowds."

"Those are reasons enough to encourage the job, my boy,
but you've come a deal closer to understanding the true
nature of Chellin Duchin. I've always read the old books
and followed the old ways."

"Aye," agreed Port, looking to his brother for agreement.
"You've got two more in us that follow that Line. Maybe our
old dame who bread-and-buttered us had it right when she
said that we would one day come back to our roots in Trew."

Profwal for a Journey                  187

"She used to tell us tales of wonderful mines that lay in
the Channels, full of gemstones that stored sunlight, and
could burn in the Darkness for a lifetime."

"She also spoke of the small ones who mined them, and
how ugly and evil they were. The Draghers, she called them.
They never saw much of the light above ground."

"Those clans were mentioned in my books. Starboard.
They were not an evil race, although they didn't have much
traffic with humans."

"Our mother said they tried to sea! off the Watchers of
Lord Trew, and they closed the lower tombs in the burial
mounds by flooding them with an underground river."

"No one can understand what drove those clans," said
Chellin. "We have to remember that no matter what they've
done, they fought on the side of the High King at the
Middle Islands."

"But no one has anything to say of them since," persisted
Port. "I think our mother came as close to understanding
the nature of the small clans as anyone."

"Was your mother from Trew?" asked Judge, astonished
at the fact.

"Aye. A child of Trew. So are we. Port and 1. You can tell
in the way we can see in the dark, and by this." Starboard
drew up the folds of his cloak and bared a powerful forearm.
"You see this?" he asked, pointing to a small crescent-
shaped figure just below his wrist, between his thumb and
forefinger.

Judge and Hamlin and Jeremy crowded closer to look.

**The same as I have," said Port. "And so does everyone
else who is a native child of Trew. It is a mark that has been
with us for as long as Trew has existed."

"You mean everyone has one of those marks?" asked
Judge.

"Everyone who is of Trew," replied Port. "It was a mark
in the old days, so we could come and go without fear of the
Rogen."

"What on earth is a rogent?" asked Judge, still marveling
at the intricate detail of the tiny design on the hands of the
odd twin brothers.

188 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

"It is Rogen, friend, and they are the doorkeepers of
Trew, or were. I think something has happened somewhere
that has turned them into something horrible,"

"Doorkeeps? What do you mean? Are they guards of
shelters?"

"More, by a yard or two. They were brought about in the
history of Trew by our father and keeper, the Lord Trew,
Flame of the Hills of Trew."

Starboard continued the story: "When the world was -at
open combat, the Lord Trew called up the Rogen from a
book he had from one of the Sisters of Skye- It was supposed
to be a spell that would protect Trew from all enemies, and
keep outsiders from invading."

Jeremy looked at Chellin Duchin, his eyes wide. "And
you say you want to take a squadron up through Trew to
reach the Channels? Even Famhart, if we could find him,
would argue against going through such hostile country."

"No one knows what happened," went on Port. "Some-
where the Line was crossed, and the Rogen not only kept
outsiders from entering Trew, but they began to not allow
those in Trew to leave. We were smuggled out by our
mother, but the price was high. She fell into poor health
after the effort, and I don't think she ever was the same
afterward."

"Did your mother tell you about the Rogen?" asked
Hamlin.

"She told us about everything that had to do with Trew.
She told us that a time would come when an outsider would
bring the most danger that Trew had ever faced, and it
would be a danger that would be faced by the forces of
another one not of Trew."

"I thought no outsiders could get into Trew," said Ham-
lin. "If these Rogen are doorkeeps, how could anyone with-
out those marks you have get in?"

"All our mother said was that the great battle for Trew
would be fought by one who was an enemy, and that the
borders would no longer be bound in the old ways."

Starboard nodded at his brother, and they went on mum-

Pro/wial for a Journey                   189

bling their agreement for some time, speaking in their native
tongue.

"That has all come to pass, it seems," said Chellin. "All
our borders are being changed by this unseen hand that
keeps throwing these raiding parties our way. It's been so
stow a thing over the years, we haven't noticed how it's all
beginning to be remapped. Old settlements that used to be
prominent on our charts are not marked at all, or given a
name that ends with 'ruins,' or with a mark that there was
once a settlement there."

"Does that tie in with what you saw at the millers' lake?
Were the elves a part of all this grand plan?" asked Jeremy.
"They didn't seem to be much concerned with anything we
might be involved in."

"They ieft after the Middle Islands," explained Chellin.
"The times were already such that they could see their race
would not be able to continue on in the old ways. More and
different humans came, which brought more settlements,
and covered more territory. There would be no room for the
world of the dreamers- They have long awaited the call of
the High Havens, to go home at last over the Sea of
Silence."

"That's wonderful stuff, Chellm. Where did you stumble
on it? All we ever heard from you was manual of arms, and
repetitions of swordstrokes, and instructions for bow shots."

"Then you are witnessing the rebirth of Chellin Duchin,
as he shall be in the future, lads. Old Chellin shall shed his
skin like the bush snake, and emerge in a coat of different
colors. It is time for that, I think."

Chellin laughed, enjoying some small private Joke that
seemed to amuse him greatly.

"The signal came at the lake," he resumed, "when I saw
the tracks in the mud, and the cask that was come back for.
It was said that when the dreamers return to gather their
dead, that the time will be upon us when the mountains shall
shift their shoulders, and the seas will find new shores."

"Not much to put weight to anything there," said Port
simply. "That sounds like the sort of thing our mother was
always saying."

190 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

"She always was," agreed Starboard- "I never could
listen to her without wondering what it was all going to be
like."

The Company was interrupted then by a delegation from
the settlement, led by a frail-looking old man who wore a
band of silver ringlets about his head.

"We beg pardon. Steward, but we thought we had best
bring this news straight to you as soon as we heard it. Come
up, EIrid, and deliver it to the steward just like you told
me."

A young man dressed in light green cape and trousers was
coaxed from the midst of the crowd, and came to stand
before Chellm, protesting mildly, but enjoying all the atten-
tion he was getting.

"Come out with it, lad," encouraged Chellm. "Tell old
Chellin Duchin what you've got behind your gums there!
Spit it out!"

Chellin's appearance seemed to chill the young man's
enthusiasm, and he could not find his voice right away, but
after another prodding by the old man with the silver ring-
lets, he gave his report.

Chellin and the others of his squadron listened carefully,
growing quieter and more serious as the young man went on
to the conclusion, which took some time to reach.

The stewards of the Line sat up far into the night formu-
lating their plan of action, and adding a new dimension to
their line of thinking. It seemed that Chellin's predictions of
change was coming to be with a vengeance, and even Port
and Starboard found new reason to remember well their
mother's words about the storm that threatened them all
with a whirlwind of destruction.

Stones from Trees

Owen had waking visions about the hauntingly beautiful
girl who stood beside the still waters of the lake he had seen
in his dream. He spoke to no one about it, although Emerald
had sensed a change in him, and asked him repeatedly if he
were ill. Kegin, ever the hard-lined disciplinarian, saw to it
everyone kept to the pace of the march, only sparing the
horses at hourly intervals, and had taken on the role of
assigning tasks at each night's camp.

"We'll have to find our water and food from here out. This
is the last of our stores. I don't tike it."

"You worry overmuch, Kegin," chided the minstrel.
"We're surrounded by game, and there's a river behind us,
and another

"Do you think they might have poisoned the river?"
asked Owen. "After seeing what the outcast had, I begin to
wonder at what black trick they won't try."

"They'll use them all, lad, and then go you one or two
more. I've seen the likes of those villains stoop to any depths
to rob, or plunder, or kill.'*

"But they have to have food and water, too," said Darek.
"Why would they poison something that they would have
need of?"

"They don't seem to think along tl^e same lines as we do,"
replied Emerald. "For as long as I've been moving about
back and forth here, I've come to find that not everyone has
the same way of looking at a thing. And I've also seen some

191

192 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

poisons that would kill you as quickly as you could blink an
eye, then be perfectly harmless in a matter of a day or two."

"Where would these louts be getting anything like that?"
asked Kegin. "That sort of devil's brew is difficult to find,
and harder to handle. Who would teach them how to use
it?"

"I think we may find our answer to that once we're
further into Trew. There are many stories of the magical
nature of the clans who dwell here, not all of them pretty.
Yet the Lord Trew was himself one of the high elders at the
Council that went to war and fought in the Middle Islands."

"If that's true, then why have we had only horror stories
about those that live here?" asked Kegin doubtfully. "I've
been taught all my life that enemies are enemies, no matter
what coat they're wearing, if they strike a blow to harm
you."

"We have more mysteries in Trew to unravel than that
one, Kegin. If Owen is right in the sayings ofGillerman, and
if he is indeed waiting in the South Channels, then we'll find
puzzles enough to keep us busy for a good long while."

Owen had been slowly revolving the sword in his hand,
turning the blade in a circle, as if trying to peer into its
depths for an answer to a pressing question that nagged at
him whether awake or asleep.

The minstrel noticed this, and tried to get the young man
to talk. "Come on, lad! Let's have it! Why such a glum
face?"

"Do you ever have dreams?" asked Owen. "I mean
dreams that are so real you hardly know if you were dream-
ing or awake?"

Darek nodded from where he sat beside Owen. "I have
dreams like that sometimes. It's always about my father.
I'm about to find him, but there is always something that
keeps me back. I can ever hear him calling my name, but I
can't reach him."

"Do you ever dream about your mother?" asked Owen. "I
wonder if there's something wrong that I don't have any
dreams about my mother?"

Kegin was laying against the trunk of a tree with the reins

Stones from Trees                     195

of his horse in his hands, and his legs stretched out before
him.' He was chewing thoughtfully on a twig as he spoke.

"I don't think 1 could honestly say I ever had a dream of
my mother. She was a good-natured sort who always
hounded my father about teaching me his bad habits, but 1
never thought too much of her tongue. Sometimes she'd
bake special cakes for us to take when we went on outings,
or for the high holidays of the settlement."

The veteran warrior stopped, shaking his head. "She
blamed my father for me going off Joining the stewards.
Poor old fellow never had an idea in the world that that was
what was going on in my head. I never talked to anyone
about it before I took my oath."

"Is your father alive?" asked Emerald.

"He was two winters ago. That was the last time I saw
him. There was a party of mappers that were sent to the
upper regions near the borders of the Reed Plains. My
father was a master charter, and headed the column,"

Kegin fell silent, twisting the twig about with his lips, and
finally removing it to doodle in the soft pine needles of the
forest floor.

"You never heard more of him?" asked Emerald in a soft
voice.

"Oh, I heard more of him," replied Kegin. "He came
back from that journey not in his head. He couldn't remem-
ber the simplest things, not even his name. He could quote
the legends off any of his charts, but he said he never had a
son, and spent most of his time taking apart the pen and
quills he used to draw with."

"You mean he didn't know you?" asked Owen, visibly
alarmed.

"He was pleasant enough, but said he never married.
Couldn't remember my mother or any of his brothers, but
he could call out the name of a dog he had as a child. No one
could explain what happened to him on that trip."

"Was there a battle?" asked Darek.

"Nothing. He came home after that journey a broken old
man. My mother didn't seem to know what to do with him,

194 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

so they put him with the shepherds. They have a way of
dealing with mute, dumb things, and are always kind."

Kegin's voice had trailed off to an uncertain tremor, as if
he were on the verge of tears.

"My father was always so stem and proper. I never got
over seeing him gibbering about in front of our shelter. That
was always the hardest. I think it would have been easier if
we had heard of his death in a battle."

Emerald drew small circles in the earth with a stick,
nodding. "It would be so much simpler, I agree. I think we
would all wish for a quick and painless end. Dragging out
the business is such a messy affair."

Darek's eyes began to mist, and his chin trembled. "I wish
we could talk of something else," he said.

Kegin sat up, dusting his hands together to knock off the
pine needles that stuck to his palms. "Sorry, tad. It's a
burden on you, I know, but there's a time when you have to
go on and make the best of it, no matter how much differ-
ently you would have things."

"And you don't know for certain that your mother and
father are dead," comforted Owen. "In all the upheaval the
Line has gone through, you may have simply lost them in
the shifting of camps."

Darek blinked back his tears, trying to smile. "It's good of
you to say so, Owen. I don't know what to think anymore. I
wish I were back with them at my old home."

"Don't we all wish something as simple as that," said
Emerald quietly. "The world would be an easier place if we
could live by our wishes."

"I feel one of your songs coming," Kegin smiled. "I hope
it's a cheery one."

"The cheeriest of all," replied Emerald. "It tells of life
and death, and the road in between. Gillerman's uncle
taught it to me while we were waiting in an eagle's eyrie."

"Gillerman's uncle?" questioned Owen. "Where did you
meet him?"

"It was just the usual run of luck, lad. The master had
been giving me instruction in the nature of birds, when all of
a sudden Ephinias showed up with bundles of drawings and

Stones from Trees                     195

chalkboards, ready to lecture me on what I would need to
know about chimney whippets and poppins."

"How did you get into an eagle's nest?" asked Darek,
distracted for the moment.

"Flew," said Emerald. "Just up and there we were, as
pretty as you please. I wasn't the jaded dollop I am now, and
I can tell you that it was an uplifting experience."

"What was his name?" asked Owen.

"The eagle's?"

"No, GiUerman's uncle."

"Ephinias. He said he'd spent a lot of time with the Old
Ones at the Middle Islands. Before that. too, 1 suspect. He
had a quick way of letting you know everything he knew by
just looking into your eyes."

"Will 1 ever get to find out how to fly?" asked Darek.

"If we can find Gillerman. then I'm sure we can find
Ephinias, Darek. And I don't think he will have forgotten all
those good tricks he knew. He was a marvel at peeling
apples with his front teeth, and he could stand on one foot
for a whole night through."

"Why would he want to do that?" asked Darek.

"Part of his initiation, lad. When he was let into the
Order of the Falcon, he had to prove himself worthy by
eating a mouse whole, and standing on one leg in his coop all
night."

"Ugh," blurted Owen. "I don't think I'd want to join that
Order."

"Oh, he wasn't Ephinias the man, he was in bird-form. A
mouse isn't so bad a treat as you might think."

"I'd have to be hungrier than I am now," said Kegin,
"and that's fair hungry."

"Did you check the outcast mounts? There may be some
provisions there."

"I wouldn't want anything they carried," protested
Kegin. "It would be hard to tell what they had poisoned
from their own provisions."

"We're not that desperate yet," agreed Emerald. "Per-
haps we may chance on one of the old settlements before too
much longer. I keep having the strangest feelings that we're

196 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

being allowed into Trew without a fuss. By all the calcula-
tions I've made, we should have come into the Edges
yesterday."

"Then we would already be nearer the trail to the Silver
Mist Pass," said Owen, his excitement rising.

"If Gillerman's chart proves right, then the next step
would be the South Channels, and Gillerman himself, or
some form of help."

"How can you be so sure. Emerald? How do we know the
South Channels won't be even more dangerous than Trew?
You could put them both in a bag of trouble and not be able
to tell them apart, as far as I can see."

"You'll worry yourself into an early grave yet, Kegin.
Owen has the blade Gillerman gave him, so we shall have a
way to guide ourselves to where we need to be."

"Early grave or not, I want to see some flesh-and-blood
mark that will tell us where we are. If we're in Trew, I want
to know it. There's enough of my superstitious old mother in
me that if I find myself in danger, I can remember the words
I need to say to keep me safe."

The minstrel walked to a tall pine and stood before it,
gazing up at the higher branches-

"You may have a sign quicker than you would wish,
Kegin! I think I recognize something here that has slipped
my mind for sometime past."

"What is it?" asked Owen, going to stand beside his
friend. "What made you look here?"

Emerald pointed to an object halfway up the tree, con-
cealed by the thick branches, and cleverly made to look like
nothing more than a fallen limb, or a bough broken by the
wind.

"Help me search these other trees for any signs! Keep an
eye peeled for anything up a tree that looks like it doesn't
belong."

The minstrel's voice had taken on a guarded sense of
urgency, although the others couldn't make out the half
amused expression on his face.

"But what are we to look for?" asked Darek anxiously.

Stones from Trees                     197

"Anything that looks suspicious to any of you. If you see
anything at all, show me."

Emerald shook his head, his eyes hidden from the others.

"I should have begun to guess what was happening when
we couldn't match any of the marks on the chart with our
surroundings," he said, half aloud. "Curse me for the fool
Gillerman always said I was. It was right under my nose all
along, and I failed to see it."

"See what? What are you going on about? I can't see
anything has changed so much than what it was yesterday,
or the day before!"

"Kegin, you're as blind as I am! But I couldn't expect you
to be aware of anything, for you've never had dealings with
this end of the wood." Emerald flung out his hands in an
exasperated gesture. "Gillerman will have me hided for
this!"

Owen stood beside the distraught minstrel, trying to think
of something to say'to soothe him, when he caught sight of
the slight movement out of the corner of his eye. It wasn't a
distinct motion, or even something that he could identify,
yet there was definitely some object in a place where there
had been nothing a second before. He was on the verge of
tugging at Emerald's elbow to speak, when the first of the
man-sized stones dropped out of the treetops, making a
horrible noise as it fell, and landing with a ground-shaking
thud right at his feet.

The stone was followed by a high-pitched screech that
echoed, through the wood, deadening the senses with a cold
dread; it was answered by more of the same terrifying voices
from the treetops all around them.

Emerald had pulled out his harp and held it before him
like a shield to ward off another blow, striking a short chord
on the instrument as he did so.

A long, heart-stopping wail rode up the wind, cutting
through the filtered light of the forest with a dark edge that
seemed to dim even the sun, but Emerald held the harp
higher, and struck another chord. The wail faded into
silence, and the minstrel strummed a chord, then another.
and finally added his voice to the music.

198         THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

"In the dark shadows
of the Darien Mounds
there are three kinds of dying,
one is under the damp,
cold earth, but the other
two are fear and anger,
so come out, come out,
you Darien clan,
we have not come
to buy our death
at your door."

Emerald trailed off, slowly turning from side to side to
watch the effect the song was having on the hidden
onlookers.

Darek was at Owen's side, the small knife Stearborn had
given him drawn and clutched tightly in his hand.

"I don't think we'll need our weapons," hissed Emerald
through clenched teeth. "If we were looking for a clue as to
where we are on the chart, we have it now."

"What are these things that throw stones from the
trees?" shot Kegin, an arrow strung and ready, paying no
attention to his friend's advice that they wouldn't need to
defend themsetves-

"Where else could we be but the Darien Mounds,"
explained Emerald. "And the mounders are not so terrible
as they sound, although they can be dangerous enough in
other ways."

"I've only heard the worst about the place," Kegin went
on, his sharp eyes scanning the treetops for a movement at
which to loose a shaft.

The minstrel saw the direction of his glance, and shook
his head. "You're looking toward the wrong quarter if you're
trying to find them. This is the ruse they work so well."

"The stones were no trick! If one of them had cracked our
skulls, it would have been a far sight more than just a
headache!"

"They didn't hit us," soothed Emerald. "I don't think

Stones from Trees                     199

they expected anyone to come up the back way. We've
frightened them."

"We frightened them\" blurted Kegin. "By the Sacred
Glen of Morlin Tayhe, I think they should certainly be
guilty of frightening us, what with all the screeching and
stones they've thrown."

"Do you know these people?" asked Owen, looking with a
new respect at the minstrel. When he had met the musician,
Owen had looked on him as a somewhat pitiful figure, for
even though he was a strong, healthy man, he carried the
leather case with a harp, rather than the stewards' arms,
and claimed that he fought the worst of enemies with his
music, driving away ignorance and hatred. That did not
impress Owen at the time, although he found the tales
amusing, and a way to distract him from his anxious
thoughts for his mother's safety and well-being.

As time had gone on, and he knew more of The man, he
saw that there was a great mystery growing at the heart of
the question as to who Emerald really was. It began to
appear to Owen more and more that it was not a chance
meeting that had drawn them together.

Emerald had strummed another note or two on his instru-
ment, and called out in a strange, awkward tongue that
seemed to be made up of wild bird cries, and the sound that
the trees would make in a strong spring wind.

There were answering calls after a brief silence, and the
screeching was renewed with twice or three times the num-
ber of voices as before.

Darek held his ears shut with his hands, his face drawn
with pain.

"Make them stop!" cried Kegin. "For the love of our
hearing, call them off"

Owen watched Emerald as he called out again, and saw
the strange way his windpipe moved as he gobbled out the
odd-sounding language.

"They're distant cousins of the old clans who lived here,"
explained Emerald. "1 should have begun to suspect some-
thing when we were so far gone into what should have been
the Edges without a sign or clue as to where we were. These

200 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

mounders have removed all the markers, or mixed up the
ones that are still left. It's a trick they've been using for a
long time."

"You mean we are lost?" said Owen flatly, looking stead-
ily at Emerald.

"No, lad, no such thing. We know where we are exactly!
The Darien Mounds! Somehow I must coax them out to
meet us." Emerald paused, !ost in thought. "Wait! I've? got
it! Get me that waxed thread from the outcasts' saddlebag!
They love sewing. I knew that ball of thread we found there
would stand us in good stead somewhere down the road.
Look lively, Darek!"

The youth moved hesitantly toward the horses, his eyes
still scanning the tops of the trees for other stones to be
loosed. He saw the clever rope and pulleys that were rigged
in the trees where the large stones had fallen from, and
vowed nevefto be caught so unaware again.

"Hurry, lad! I think I feel one of the fellows coming out of
his hiding now."

Emerald struck another chord, and sang in a singsong
voice a nonsensical little tune that Owen had heard mothers
humming to their infants.

"They like the simple things," said Emerald. "I came on
them when 1 first traveled through here with Gillerman. He
told me of their oldest ancestors, and what had happened to
them."

"What happened?" asked Owen. "Why do they have
such terrible voices?"

"For protection. Much like a beautiful flower that has an
odor so dreadful it drives away any who would tear it from
the plant. These poor chaps can't-get over their looks or
their size, so they have devised ways to protect themselves in
spite of them. A lot of the dreadful stories you've heard of
the Darien Mounds are fabrications by these folk
themselves."

Kegin had lowered his bow, and came to stand beside
Owen and Emerald.

Darek cried out from behind the last of the horses they
had captured from the outcasts of Leech- The next second,

Stones from Trees                    201

he was dragged kicking and struggling toward his friends by
beings that were no taller than the youth, although they had
hair and beards that were flecked with gray, and grew down
to their thick leather belts-

"Help! They've got me!"

"Easy, lad, you're all right. Just hold onto the thread
ball."

"I couldn't get it," shot Darek- "They surprised me!"

Owen watched in amazement as the dozen or so small
figures marched Darek along in their midst.

The leader, who appeared to be about Owen's height,
stood before Emerald, his dark eyes flaring between anger
and excitement. He was dressed in pale green with leather
cuffs and collar and a cloak thrown back over his shoulders.
At his belt was a dirk of some strange shape, and he had
what looked to be a longsword, only there was simply the
hilt, but no blade.

After a moment or two of hand signs among his followers,
the small being turned to Emerald and spoke in a gentle, low
voice-
Owen could understand none of the words, although it
seemed that from time to time he could almost make out a
sound that was familiar. Emerald nodded and shook his
head, pointing and gesturing to Darek and Owen and Kegin,
and obviously giving the leader of the small mounders an
explanation of their presence.

After what seemed a long time, the leader's ancient face
crinkled into what might pass for a smile, and he said in a
very loud voice, over and over, "The Windameir, the
Windameir!"

"It's all right," said Emerald. "They say they have been
infested with the vermin from above the Rogen Keep and
the Malignes- They have had their settlement here for a
long time, but they are being driven to the point of leaving.
They thought we were more of the same armies which have
been gathering here."

"What armies?" Kegin questioned. "Can he tell us
strengths and locations? Famhart can use this to formulate
a plan to rid the Line of this scum, whoever they may be."

202 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

"This fellow says his name is Luka. He knows where the
man is who is the head of these armies!"

"Ask him if we could go there?" Kegin persisted. "Would
they take us? Just so we could see for ourselves?"

The other mounders, all dressed exactly like their leader,
but without the broken longsword, had moved to circle the
comrades, leaning against short pikestaffs and cudgels, and
in one case, a stubby crossbow that was armed and ready for
action.

Emerald spoke again in what seemed a series of chirps
and gurgling sighs, and whatever he was saying seemed to
excite the small figure into a fit of nervous activity. Between
bellows and short explosions of whistling sounds. Emerald
translated the mounder's speech for the others.

"He says this man has come from over the Silver Mist
Pass and sits in the South Channels at the head of a warrior
band. Luka says this is a man who has the form of a bear."

"A bear?" asked Kegin. "What on earth would that
mean?"

"He says it'& got the South Channels in a fair state of
alarm- They have begun to march in droves toward the
borders, and his people here have been having a difficult
time keeping their mounds safe."

"A bear," mused Kegin. "I wonder where I've heard of
that?"

"Somewhere on the path here," said Emerald. "I remem-
ber it too, but 1 can't place it just now."

"There was talk of bears at the last refugee settlement we
passed through," replied Owen. "Someone told a story
about a man in the mountains who was able to take on the
form of a bear."

"That was it. Well, Luka says that the very fellow is a
fact, and has sent raiding parties to attack his settlement on
the last three nights. That's why they were so ready to finish
us."

"Good timing we've got," snapped Kegin. "Out of one
frying pan right back into the fire."

"All we need to do is get through," said Owen. "If this
fellow is busy arming and planning attacks, we may be able

Stones from Tree!                     203

to get through the backdoor and find Gillerman. All we need
is a chance to get the leaf my mother needs. We'll leave the
man-bear to my father, and the stewards."

"From what Luka says, there may be more of a threat
than the stewards can handle."

Owen shook his head stubbornly.

"The stewards of the Line have held fast through every-
thing. It would take more to defeat them than any of the
armies the outcasts have."

"There are more things here that threaten us than the
outcasts and the raiders from the borders, Owen. We shall
have to find our help in the form of the Old Ones. We must
find Gillerman now. Everything depends upon him helping
us."

Kegin broke in anxiously. "Is there any way to get
through Trew without running across this fellow who has
stirred up all the trouble? See if Luka could arrange that."

Emerald spoke again in the odd-sounding tongue, and the
small forms of the mounders moved about and talked ani-
matedly among themselves, making sweeping motions with
their hands, and pointing away toward the east, where the
companions could Just make out the taller peaks of the
South Channels.

"I think they mean we can get over the Silver Mist
without trouble. This bear lord is gathering an army, and
the roads are full of recruits that are going to join him.
There is another man in Trew now who is doing the same
thing. We can blend in with the flow."

"That's well and good, old fellow, but what happens when
we get there? Do we march with this bear lord, or this other
chap, or do we just say we've changed our minds and want
to go home?"

"It's a fair question, Kegin, but one I can't answer now,
for we haven't gotten far enough along to deal with it."

"I'd like to give some thought to a road that comes back
the other way before I set my course. I've grown highly fond
of my hide over all these turnings."

"This bear lord might help us," offered Darek. "If he's as

204 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

powerful as these funny tittle men say he is, he might listen
to a plea to help someone in need."

"Not likely, Darek. This chap doesn't sound like the sort
to be an almsgiver. I don't like the sound of him."

"But we might try. Emerald. It would hurt nothing to
try."

"The lad may have a point. Emerald," said Kegin- "Not
about the warlord, but some of the other folk there might be
ordinary people who want nothing to do with all the commo-
tion that's going on."

"We do seem to find that lot everywhere, don't we?"
asked Emerald. "Thank the High Throne of Windameir for
that. It seems its always had the bad apple that turns the
barrel sour."

"Then we're going on?" asked Darek, looking faintly
uneasy.

"Yes. We've got to cross Gillerman's track before long.
We're close enough now to the South Channels that we
should be having a sign of him soon."

Emerald had no more than finished speaking, when the
longsword at Owen's side began to hum and tingle in its
scabbard, and when he drew it forth, the golden-white light
began to throb in brilliant arcs that formed halos above all
those there, terrifying the mounders and sending them scur-
rying for cover.

A Riddle Underground

In the cool darkness of the tunnels that wound down into the
entryway of the Darien Mounds, Emerald and Kegin talked
of finding a way through the South Channels, and back
safely again.

A Riddle Underground                205

Their conversation was halted at intervals by different-
colored lanterns, which evidently marked the various levels
of the vast underground settlement.

"Did you know of these beings before. Emerald? I mean
you speak their tongue, which is not the usual sort of thing
to run into."

"Barely, my friend. My master taught me what little I
know of it, but I can merely manage to get by with the
crudest sort of slang. He is fluent in the tongue, and knows
their history all the way back to the terrible time when the
Dwarf King Ruka Kar abducted a human girl and forced
her to become his queen. From that time on, the Dariens, or
mounders, were a clan that was despised by both the
dwarfish clans and humankind."

"Yet they don't seem to be of a bad sort,'* said Owen, his
eyes taking in every inch of his surroundings. "1 wish I could
speak their language. It sounds like birds or wind. I like
that."

"Luka says their Querle has the tongue of all kinds.
That's where we're on our way to now."

Darek had been walking beside Owen, but began to slow
his pace, stumbling a bit, and reaching out a hand to steady
himself against the cool surface of the smooth stone.

"Easy, lad!" said Kegin, catching the boy before he fell.
"What is it. Darek?"

"What happened?" asked Emerald, turning toward
Kegin just in time to see him catch the fainting youth.

"He's out! I don't know why! Can we stop here to see if
there's a wound?"

"It would have to be lighter, I think," said Emerald, and
he spoke urgently to Luka, who glanced at the stricken boy,
his throat contracting and expanding as the strange noise
that was their language filled the passage.

The minstrel nodded.

"He says we are almost to the Fourth Chamber. There
are healers there, and light enough that we might feel it is
day. These lads don't spend much time outside, although
they don't exactly follow the dwarfish rule of living entirely
below ground."

206 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

As Kegin held the lad, a troop of Dariens came and took
Darek on a rolled cloak that had been spread between them-

"It's all right," said Emerald. "They will go on ahead.
They can make better time down these tunnels than you or I
can. And it might be urgent to get the lad help quickly."

Kegin reluctantly let the small strangers take the boy,
and seemingly without noise or effort, they vanished into the
dim reaches of the tunnel that stretched away into'the
distance.

Luka spoke again, raising a hand to point out something
that was on the wall, although neither Owen nor Kegin
could sec what the Darien was trying to show them.

"It's the first level," explained Emerald. "These under-
ground digs arc broken into levels. He says this is the first
time in his life that any of our kind have ever been so deep in
his home."

"I'm not so sure I take that as an honor." Kegin laughed
nervously. "It doesn't seem to be the sort of place that I
would make a point to find."

"These shafts are cut for a person no larger than Luka,"
said Emerald. "But he says that we shall find room aplenty
when we come to the Fourth Chamber. Evidently that's the
largest of all the mounds. I think he said it had once been
the upper dome for an ancient dwarfish delving. They're
pretty tender on that score. If we meet this Querle who can
speak our tongue, don't let on you know anything of dwarfs,
or any of their affairs."

"I had no idea about any of this sort of thing until I met
you Emerald. You've been the harbinger of all my ill-
fortune these past days, bless you."

"There were things that would be known by all, sooner or
later. Our lifetime has seen a fairly quiet run of events, but
I'm afraid ifs done with now."

"You call the border raiders a quiet run of events?" shot
Kegin.

"It was only a prelude of things to come, it seems. Luka
said they have seen armies marching through these parts. It
sounds as if there are enough massed troops to deal the
stewards a fatal blow."

A RiddU Underground               207

Owen paled, and his breath grew short as he listened to
the minstrel. He tried to keep the fear and anger down, but
couldn't, and his voice broke as he spoke.

"My father and the stewards have never been bested," he
repeated, straight from all the history of the Line. "We have
lost battles, but never a war. The Line is still unbroken!"

"I know it's hard to believe, Owen," said Emerald, trying
to reassure the youthful heir of the Elder Famhart. "What
has been going on has been far beyond the borders of your
home. It would have been difficult to know all these things,
if you don't travel as much as I."

"Where do you come from. Emerald? And why do you
travel so much? All we know is that you found us when we
were camped on the run from Sweet Rock. You never did
tell us where you hailed from." Kegin was not openly hos-
tile, but he had the same thoughts churning through his
mind that troubled Owen.

Emerald did not break stride, nor turn to look at his
companions. "I come from a country that knows war, and
has been devoured. Its name would mean nothing to you."

"My mother might have read of it to me," insisted Owen.

"Your mother would have heard of it in a way," replied
Emerald. "Your father's father would ring a bell with her."

"What do you mean?" asked Owen, beginning to take
offense with the cryptic talk of the minstrel.

"When I came to you, I had been told that the Feast of
the Red Bear had been celebrated all across the land. My
master said long ago, before you were born, Owen, that I
was to find the son of the son of one from Boghatia. It was to
be my penance for an old injury."

"Boghatia? You mean you came from the lands where my
father's father came from?"

"Not from Boghatia, Owen. The East Ledges. We were at
war with the Boghatians until our clans butchered each
other down to but a few survivors- Those left, and so the
maps show only the ruins of once proud countries that could
not abide peacefully."

"I never heard that story," said Kegin quietly. He wanted
to ask more questions, but the minstrel's face had hardened,

208 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

and there was a coldness in the glance he turned on his
friends.

"I shall sing of it one day. It still stings me to remember
the sorrow of it."

"But how did you find us? You still haven't told us that."

"There is no questions you have of Darek? Did you find
that a satisfactory way to explain him, that he came to your
camp when his parents were killed by the raiders?" '

Emerald turned to answer a remark the Darien had made
then, and he conversed for some time with Luka in the alien
sounds of the small one's language.

As they had talked, the stonework grew more elaborate,
and there was a distinct chill in the air now, as though they
had gone far beyond the range of the sun's warming rays-
The floor of the tunnel was cut in small squares, which
seemed to reflect back a mutual light from the ceiling, and
when Owen looked up, there were miniature stars ablaze in
that blue-black stone; it was so realistic, for a moment he
thought they had surely followed the small figure up
through a tunnel, and out into the night beneath a moonless
sky.

"Luka' has heard of the sword you wear, Owen. That is
one of the reasons that we are being allowed into the Fourth
Chamber. The Querle has told the story of the sword of
light, and that it will one day rise to strike a blow for
freedom for all those who have been kept in Darkness."

Kegin looked sideways at Owen, and the cumbersome
longsword that had frightened him from time to time by
bursting into a dazzling golden white light.

"What do you mean? Now you say that this pup is
carrying on with some mystic affair? My stars protect me,"
muttered Kegin. "Famhart will have my head for this."

Emerald laughed unexpectedly. "Don't fret over it, good
Kegin. There is nothing either you or Famhart could have
done to have prevented these things from happening."

"I could have followed my instincts, and stayed safely in
camp until Famhart returned."

"It would have done no good. We've been dragged into all
this whether we want it or not."

A Riddle Underground                209

"My mother would still need the leaf from the country of
the Three Trees. Kegin. Right now, that's all I'm concerned
with," said Owen solemnly.

"And to find what has taken Darek," added Emerald. "I
hope he hasn't been infected with that vile potion the out-
cast carried. Sometimes it is enough to simply get it on your
hands. I've seen strong men weaken into a fever and lay up
for days from a small drop of it."

Owen stopped dead in his tracks. "He was behind the
outcast when I threw the vial. I might have splashed him
with it then."

"But then you would have gotten some of it on you too,
Owen. I don't see how you could have helped it.'*

"It may have something to do with a sort of protection the
sword gives him, Kegin. Do you feel ill, Owen? Any dizzi-
ness or fainting spells?" asked Emerald.

"No," replied the youth. "I never would have thrown that
vial if I'd know what it was."

"If you hadn't thrown it, Owen, you and Darek would
probably be buried in that clearing back there, along with
the slain outcast. The man was clever, and he was bound to
kill you both, for sport, if nothing else."

"It's hard to believe that, after-seeing him with the poison
on his face."

"A fate he would have cheerfully subjected you to, my
buck. These are hard lads we're dealing with."

"I'll be glad to find out what is wrong with Darek. Maybe
these small ones can help us. I hate to think of him without a
mother or father, and dragged off by the likes of us into
more trouble than he would have had back at the camp."

Owen's head dropped as he trudged along beside Emer-
ald, and he felt the pangs of guilt at leaving against his
father's orders. It would be doubly bad if anything hap-
pened to Darek, for he was left in Owen's charge, and even
though he had gone through a time of disliking the boy for
his lack of courage, he did not wish him harmed.

"Luka says we're almost there. It's just beyond the curve
in the tunnel," reported Emerald, translating the Darien's
speech.

210 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

"How far down do you think we are?" asked Kegin.

"1 wouldn't think so deep as you might suspect,"
answered the minstrel, studying a small bas-relief design on
a wall, then going on. **These Dariens aren't dwarfs, so their
digs won't run as deep as a dwarf delving. I think we may
actually be very close to the surface, if truth be known.
Remember, it's called the Darien Mounds on the chart."

"You mean to say these things aren't tunnels
underground?"

**0h, yes, Kegin, we're underground well enough, but not
as deep as you think."

"How can you tell?" asked Owen.

"The air," replied Emerald. "It stilt smells like outside."

"Wouldn't they have air shafts?"

"Exactly. If these were dwarfish delvings, we'd be far
below ground by now. The air would be good, but it
wouldn't have this sweet smell to it."

"Have you been in a dwarfish delving?" asked Kegin,
amazed at the breadth of the minstrel's experiences.

"My master took me once, although it was long deserted.
A sad sight, all that grandeur gone stale, languishing away
there in the forgotten earth. I learned quite a sad song about
it."

"Will you sing it?" asked Owen.

"Not here. It would upset the Dariens tremendously,
We're off to a good start with them. I don't want to ruin our
good will with them now."

Kegin laughed uneasily. "Please, it isn't nice to upset a
host in his own cave. We don't even know for sure our way
out."

"Will we ever hear the song?" persisted Owen.

"Of course, you reckless lad. At the very first chance I
have, I'll sing you all the verses. It's very sad, though. You'll
have need of much linen to dry away the tears."

As the minstrel finished speaking, they came to the entry-
way of a large domed chamber that was lit on wall and
ceiling by shining orbs that glowed in powerful spheres,
round and silent, and filling the immense room with black
and pale gold shadows-

A Riddle Underground                211

The Darien who had guided them turned and spoke to
Emerald for a moment, then hurried away.

"We are to wait here. Luka says he will fetch the Querle,
and the rest of the Justins. They are the lawmakers for the
Dariens."

"Where is Darek? I thought they were bringing him
here."

"I'm sure he's all right, Owen. They would hardly have
reason to harm the boy."

Kegin paced uneasily into the room a few feet further,
peering about anxiously. "They have something on the walls
here! Look, Emerald! Can you make out what I'm talking
about?"

On the edges of the bottom of the carved stone walls, just
below the orbs that lit the room. were more bas-relief
designs of an odd nature that none of the companions could
make out.

"I can't tell what it is, but it has covered the walls all
along here. Look!"

"Here's more." said Owen, running his hand over the cool
smooth figures in the stone.

"If this were a delving, I'd have a bit more idea of what it
means, but since we're in the Darien Mounds, I would have
to ask Gillerman."

"If only he were here," lamented Owen. "We're in a fine
mess, being gone when we weren't supposed to, and now
Darek is sick. I don't think we'll ever find the way to the
country of the Three Trees at the pace we're going."

The young man's face had screwed itself into a tight
mask, and he felt humiliated that he was so near crying.

"Easy, old man," said Kegin, and Owen was grateful to
him for not seeing the hot tears that flooded his eyes and ran
down his cheek.

**We shall sec the end of this together, no matter what it
may take to find what your mother needs. Famhart may
skin us all alive, but it would be worth it if we could bring
Linne back to her senses. I'd let myself be hided every day
for a year, if I thought that would help our chances."

**Wc are off the road," protested Owen. "I don't know

212 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

what these Dariens are up to, but I don't like the idea of
being down in these old tombs."

"These aren't tombs, Owen," corrected Emerald. "Every-
one who sees the mounds thinks they are burial grounds, but
they are actually the stairways to Trew. That's what they
originally were, and still are, I suspect, unless the Dariens
have sealed them off to protect themselves from intruders."

"Can't you ask this Luka? He seems to be free with his
replies."

"He's simply awed by the fact that a stranger is familiar
enough with his speech to be able to understand, and make
himself understood."

The small company had reached a bottom level of the
shaft, and they could feel the floor even out, no longer at a
tilt. The lights from the shimmering globes had grown in
intensity, and now it was light enough in the enormous
chamber to see even the top-most part of the ceiling, high
above them in the patchy web of darkness.

There again were the miniature stars that Owen had seen
earlier, blazing merrily away, and making it difficult for the
lad to believe that the bright twinkling lights weren't real
stars in a vast blue-black heaven. There were other lights
then, deep gold and red, flaring on the horizon of the dome-
like flashes of lightening in a nighttime summer sky. A
distant sound of thunder rolled through the chamber, mak-
ing the ground tremble faintly, then more golden flashes lit
up the room until a bright round orb began to rise behind
them, slowly traveling up the starlit dome until alt the
smaller lights were faded into the burning glare of the
Darien sun-

A slight fanfare played on small horns blared, and a
company of mounders entered from what appeared to be a
floor that had been sunken into the smooth surface of the
chamber. Three Dariens there had on dark blue cloaks and
square hats that rose above them another three feet, giving
the impression that they were taller than the others of the
court. Luka stepped forward then, and, bowing low to his
leader, turned and addressed Emerald.

A Riddle Underground                213

"His exalted Wisedom, the Fire of Age and Courage,
Querle Unidan."

As the small Darien bowed to his Querle again, the horns
sounded again, joined with a kind of whistling.

A strained, almost falsetto voice came from the old man,
who spoke in a jerky rhythm of ancient words, and
undecipherable slang from any number of past exchanges
with humankind.

"The Windameir eats always," said the Querle Unidan.
"Forever may the egg of truth be born to His followers."

Emerald bowed, and struck a chord on his harp. He had
been carrying it out of the case since they had been in the
shafts of the mounds. He now struck a deeper, almost
melancholy series of notes that had the group of Dariens
almost sobbing.

"I am called the Blue Wind, 0 Querle. I have blown from
the dark stars and back again. I have heard the song the
robin sings when it is not spring and the winter has come to
murder his voice. I see the buried ruins of all in the distant
eyes of the future, and weep for all that we have been, but
are no more. "

Owen and Kegin looked quickly at Emerald, then at each
other.

"What about Darek?" asked Owen in a small voice. "See
if the Querle knows anything about Darek."

The Darien elder settled his gaze on Owen then, studying
him intently, and with perfect innocence, until the youth
had to turn away from the unfathomable black eyes. They
revealed nothing to him, but he thought he had seen his own
thoughts there, which was disturbing and frightening to
him, so he turned back to Emerald.

"Do they have healers here?" he asked, trying to rid
himself of the uneasiness of the Darien Querle's eyes on
him,

"The small one you brought to us is with pain now, but
will survive. There was a patch of the black sleep that had
spilled on the clothes. That is a deadly burden to place on
one so young, and one who docs not know how to undo the
spell."

214 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

"Are you saying there is a way to undo the black sleep?"
asked Emerald.

"There are ways. Fortunately this young sapling did not
have much of the lethal potion to deal with. Our healer has
undone the mischief."

"Our thanks, 0 Querle. The young one is of special
importance to us. We breathe easier to know he will
recover."

There was a hurried conference among the Dariens then,
and the Querle called Luka to him to confer for a short
while in a tow, thin whisper. After a time, Unidan turned
back to Emerald.

"Perhaps my use of your tongue has grown poor over the
turnings, or perhaps we have as yet to match our thoughts.
These things are always so difficult at first. We seem to be at
odds over the nature of the sapling you brought to us."

"How do you mean, 0 Querle? What difficulty do we
have?"

"You speak of the sapling as 'him/ yet we say it is 'she.'
Our lines are far removed from yours as humans, and don't
take me amiss, sir, but we do know a female of the form
when we see it. Had the child been male, I doubt he would
have lived, for the black sleep was made of a potion to harm
warriors."

Emerald's mouth gaped open, and he turned to question
Owen and Kegin.

"It can't be," muttered Kegin, shaking his head. "We
would have known!"

What seemed to be a laugh escaped through the Querle's
long, thick beard.

"I see," Unidan said. "Now I can understand what the
sapling meant when our healers were at work."

"What do you mean, 0 Querle?" asked Emerald, turning
back to the Darien.

'Don't let them see me', is what the stripling said. They
will find out!* No wonder there was such a secret of it. But
why, sir? Do you travel with such silence among yourselves
that you cannot speak freely?"

"No, 0 Querle, this is a most unusual case. We had no

A Riddle Underground                215

idea. The boy—," Emerald stammered, then resumed,—
"er, girl, came to Owen and his mother as an orphan. Then
the lad who i& with me here, found his mother struck down
yith a potion of this black sleep you describe, or something
very like it. From then we traveled to now, thinking of
Darek as simply a boy."

The Dariens talked for a few moments among themselves
again, then motioned for Emerald to come with them.

"Where are we going? Why can't Kegin and Owen go,
too?"

"They shall have their chance to meet their young friend
anew. But I don't think it would be wise to go all at once. We
shall start with you, minstrel."

"Wait," cried Owen. "Don't leave us here. Emerald. We
can't speak the language!"

"He shall be back in time, young sir. Don't fret your
whittles over nothing. The others shall show you to sleeping
cells, and offer you food and drink. You all look as though
you could use refreshment."

"We must sec to our horses," said Kegin, not liking the
idea of being separated any further.

"Your mounts are sheltered in our stable. They shall be
quite well tended until you have need of them again."

Kegin and Owen were escorted further down the huge
chamber, until they neared one wall, where they could hear
the faint echo of music and voices, seemingly coming from
the very stone.

The lights dimmed momentarily, and a small arched
doorway appeared at Owen's elbow, startling him into
jumping backward and stepping painfully on Kegin's foot.

Their smiling, silent hosts beckoned for them to come
through the strange doorway, although both Kegin and
Owen were reluctant to follow, putting themselves further
away from Emerald and Darek.

The news of Darek not being who he said he was had not
fully registered on Owen's consciousness. "A girl!" he said
aloud, looking at Kegin incredulously. "How could we have
been so blind?"

"Not hard, old fellow. If a chap says he has blue eyes and

216 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

a lame leg, after a while you start believing him, even if his
eyes are brown, and he's got two perfectly healthy pins."

"But we've been with him—or her—for the whole time
since we left Sweet Rock- I don't see how we could have
been fooled for so long!"

"Your mother would have spotted it, sure enough, if only
she'd been all right."

"Do you think so?"

"A woman always knows another woman, lad. Now we
have to find out from Darek, or whatever her name is, why
she hid her identity from us."

Before Owen could reply, the Dariens had stopped in
front of another wall, where a gliding stone door opened
back against itself, and the two friends were led into a snug
study, complete with fireplace and tea table, including a
plate of what looked to be some sort of cakes.

"This looks like they were expecting us," grumbled
Kegin. "Mark my word, no good has ever come of meddling
in another's affairs. We'll see a dark side-to all this yet."

"I've still got the sword Gillerman gave me, and Emerald
is a friend of their elder. We won't be harmed here, Kegin.
Look!" He pulled it from the scabbard. "The blade is dark.
It would be on fire if we were in danger!"

Two of the Dariens saw the movement, and fell back a
few paces, keeping their backs to the wall, and drawing
small darts from their belts.

"Hold, friends." Kegin smiled. "This has nothing to do
with you." He laughed, and raised his hands above his head.
"See? All peaceful! We don't want to harm you!"

In a split-second, the Dariens had put back the darts and
vanished, leaving the two startled companions to explore
their surroundings alone for some time, before they bitterly
conceded that there was no doorway that they could find or
open, and after another frantic effort at calling out, they
sunk down heavily in the comfortable chairs by the fire to
ponder this last strange twist of fate.

The Track of the Dragon

In the time it took Largo to come to his senses from the
horrendous din that was clattering wildly through his head,
he had run from the river all the way to the small settle-
ment, where Elita and the others had provided him with a
shelter of his own when he had first come to them, furnished
simply in the same fashion as all the rest of the dwellings of
Trew.

Slowly his head cleared, and he tried to reconstruct what
had gone on at the river, with the blinding lights, and
horrible noises. It wasn't anything fhat the conscious part of
him would have recoiled from, but the dark corner that
seemed to linger somewhere below his heart had spread an
icy terror through his body, and a voice he could not forget
warned him to flee for his life. After the voice, it was as
though a thousand dead bells clanged against a bitter winter
wind, and the frozen air numbed his mind until he had come
to, standing in front of his shelter, staring numbly in front of
him.

"Largo! What's wrong?" cried a worried voice behind
him.

It took him a moment to recognize the face of Elita.

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the icy cob-
webs there, and put a hand out toward the wall to steady
himself.

"I must have caught a chill,*' he said weakly. "I haven't

217

218 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

been feeling up to the mark this past week. 1 don't know
what's wrong with me."

Elita leaned close then, and looked deeply into his eyes.
Largo tried to pull back from her inspection, but she held
him firmly, and there was something in her gaze that
momentarily hypnotized him.

"1 can see many strange spells at work. Where have you
come from? Is there someone who tried to control you with
potions or cants?"

Largo shook his head vigorously. "I don't know what you
mean! I know nothing of spells or potions' I come from my
old country, like I told you, to try to gain back my rightful
holdings."

"There is a strong will evident there. Largo. It's frighten-
ing. I've never seen so much power before. I think it has
sensed me searching it out!" Elita gave a little cry then, and
backed quickly away from him.

A strange look came over Largo's handsome features
then, darkening his brow, and turning the corners of his
mouth down into an ugly scowl.

"There is nothing to sense, Etita! You've read something
into me that's not there." Largo's voice was not quite men-
acing, but it startled Elita all the same with its harshness.

"I didn't mean to offend you. Largo. It was just some-
thing I though 1 saw there. I was afraid some enemy had
worked an evil spell to harm you! I was only trying to help."

Largo's face softened then, although the scowl still
lingered at his lips. "I thank you for that, my lady. I assure
you I have no enemy but my sister capable of harming me.
There are those who follow her, but they won't be able to
stand against me, now that Linne is safely out of the way."

"Is that her name?" asked Elita.

"Yes. If your spell has worked as you said it would, there
will be no more need to mention her at all."

His face brightened then, but a dark frown lingered at his
brow. "What was the cause of the lights on the river? They
frightened me."

Elita reached out a hand to him, but he drew away.

"There is nothing to be frightened of from the riverfolk,

The Track of the Dragon

219

Largo. The old stories have it that it is the Evening Clans,
come to seek out all their cousins who might be left in the
world."

"The clans of what?"

"Some call them the Even Star Tribe, and others have
different names, but they are the same clan, no matter what
name you put to them."

"What do they want here? You say they always come to
your river at this season?"

"Always. I can't remember a time when they haven't. My
grandmere once told a story of the time they didn't appear
for three turnings. There were bitter snows, and the crops
were parched, and then the floods hit. It was a terrible time
in Trew. The last of the Purge was still abroad then."

"Was your grande dame alive then?" asked Largo.

"Oh no, that was long before her time. I think it must
have happened in my great-great-grandmere's life. There is
still a spot at the river's edge where you can see a track of
the dragon. It has killed all the plants nearby, and no wild
thing goes near it, even now. They told me as a child that
you could go blind from even looking at it, but I know there
is no truth to that story, for I've looked at it many times."

"Where is this so-called snake track? I'd like to see it."

"It's where you saw the lights that frightened you. Largo.
Do you want to go back? We can go in the daylight, if you'd
rather. There isn't so much activity from the Evening clans
then."

Largo's mind was following a thread of thought, and he
barely heard the woman, but he nodded his agreement.

"Yes, tomorrow would be fine. I have heard much about
these snakes, but I never thought they really lived. It would
be interesting to see what sort of thing left a track there."

Elita paused, unwilling to go, although she could see that
Largo was anxious to be alone.

"There is a comet shower later tonight. It comes at the
Cross of the Moon and Southern Crescent. They are very
pretty to see."

Largo refocused his attention on Etita, and shook his
head.

220 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

"I'm sure it is a pretty sight, my lady, but I have had
enough excitement for one night, I think. Perhaps I'll boil
myself some apple-leaf tea, and turn in early. We can go
look at the snake track tomorrow."

"Very well. Good night. Largo. May your sleep be pro-
tected by the Lord Trew."

"You, too," he returned. Not waiting to enter his shelter,
he didn't see how long she hesitated before turning and
slowly walking away.

It was dark inside, and he had to search about for the
tallow bowl and fire striker, but he soon had a rushlamp and
latern lighted, and a fire burning cozily in his small open-
faced stove. He drew together a parcel of small parched
scales from his knapsack, and placed them on the table next
to the lantern.

"This is a stroke of luck," he said aloud. "Finding a track
of the snake here in this unlikely spot. I've used up much of
my supply of the dragon scale, and it is hard to keep the
riffraff in line without the power of my little nuggets of
persuasion."

As he spoke, he dropped a small portion of one of the
small scales into the stove, which immediately gave off a
sickening odor of old scorched wood and dwellings, and a
chill spread through the room, in spite of the fire. There was
a rushing noise, like a great teakettle coming to a boil, and
the rushlamp began a wild flickering dance, casting gro-
tesque shadows on the walls of the ancient shelter. An eerie,
wailing cry came from the fire, and a writhing, whirling
shape began to rise and take form.

Largo leaned forward and touched the amulet at his neck,
which had begun to glow warmly on his skin.

"You have called your master, human! What is it you
wish?"

A voice, or what could be passed off as a voice, crept into
the room on the hot, seething breath of the fire.

"Do you know what the filthy swine at the river are up to?
I nearly passed out from being so close to them before I
found out their true nature. They're of an elfish strain, by
the Dark One's hand, I swear! I thought there was to be no

The Track of the Dragon

221

interference from those cursed meddlers this time. I under-
stood that the dwarf-lords and elfin hosts were all gone!"

"These were the water rats you sensed tonight, captive.
They are weak now, and will be no threat to our plan,"
hissed the voice.

"They almost strangled me! And the woman wants an
answer to my strange behavior."

"We will give you a reason. I can give you a fever that will
last but a few days. She will think you're dying."

"None of your filthy tricks! I know how that mind of
yours works. If I want to be sick for a day or two with a
fever, that's exactly what I mean- No lingering effects,
either. You make me healthy again day after tomorrow."

"We will make you more than healthy. You shall have
need of all your strength, for the time is almost upon us
when we shall rise for our vegeance on all those who would
have cast us away forever. Once the Lower Meadows are
opened again to the Dark One, we can escape the Fields of
Light. The Law is plain when it states that there shall
always be the guardians of the Lower Gates. That's my
brothers and I. We cannot be denied the right of our birth."

"And I shall have my vegeance on the sister that betrayed
me." Largo laughed, the scowl deepening into a hard gri-
mace- "She has flourished all the while I lay dead in the
dragon's hall, being tended by our Lady of the Darkness.
My life was held in the balance until she had gotten my
hatred boiling into rage. I owe my life to being able to carry
so much ill-will toward another human being."

"You bear up well, captive. There is another in the moun-
tains to the south of here. He has not yet been visited by the
Protector, but she won't let him escape from her web. He is
powerful, and seeks to avenge himself on Windameir as
well."

"What is this one called?" asked Largo suspiciously.
"Why wasn't I told of him before?"

"You are told only what you have a need to know,"
replied the voice- "There is no need to speak to you of
everything that goes forward in our plan for the recapture of
the Lower Meadows."

222 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

"But you say he's in the mountains near here? It would
interfere with my plans to have another army so close at
hand, and one that would take their orders from a different
leader."

"When the time comes, you shall meet this man- It is
fated to be so."

The voice in the dragon fire laughed malignantly, and the
Bames turned a pale greenish color, tinged by hot orange
edges that burned fiercely against the gloom of the shelter.

"Then the sooner the better. If 1 am to deal with the
vermin of elf and dwarf. I shall need a strong ally here who
can help me rid the country of this scourge. Why are these
wretched things still abroad? I was told they had all passed
over to the Sea of Silence."

"Many have, captive. My brothers and I have sent many
of the scrawny rodents to their fates. It was always the
greatest pleasure to fry one of the horrible things- I could
almost hope there are some to be left for our return."

"You can have them all for yourself, then. I want no more
to do with them."

The fire grew in strength, and the fiery breath licked
closely at Largo's face, forcing him to lean backward to be
able to breathe.

"You shall have no say at all, captive! The Protector has
her reasons for saving you, but I can see none. When we win
back the Lower Meadows, I shall take great pleasure in
educating you in the ways the doom-snakes have of prolong-
ing your life, while we torment you beyond hope. You will
plead for death, but there will be none. It will be a delightful
tidbit for my brothers and me to sit and ponder."

"You are a vile soul, you wretched thing! If it were not for
the Protector, 1 would have nothing further to do with you
or your filthy kin."

A putrid blast of the fire singed Largo's eyebrows and
mustache, and his heart trembled within him, but he knew
the dragon spell was powerless to harm him. It could not
reach beyond the fire, for the snakes of the lower realms had
been taken to the Fields of Light, and would be held there

The Track of the Dragon               223

forever, unless the Dark One regained control of the three
lower plains of Windameir.

Largo had been drilled over and over by the voice of the
Protector while he lay in a state of limbo, between life and
death, at the lair of the dragon that had carried him away
from his ruin. Time passed slowly then, and it was hard for
him to remember how many turnings it had been until he
had come forth again. Even after all the time that had
passed. Largo had been greatly surprised, one day shortly
after his return, to see his young features in the calm pool of
a high mountain lake.

It was as though he had not aged a day!

"It will be a great pleasure for me to see my sister's
wrinkles, and Famhart's gray beard." He laughed aloud,
stirring up the dragon spell again, and causing the fire to
sputter and send orange fingers leaping out onto the wooden
floor. He stamped out the burning embers, and set a teapot
to boil on the stove, while he pulled the charts from his
knapsack, and spread them before him on the table.

"Here we shall have a look at the country where my
lovely snake says there is a man raising an army. It does not
strike me well! I was to have my way here! I may have to pay
this one a visit to let him know who is at work in Trew, and
that Argent Largo is no one to be tampered with."

He smiled to himself, and full of his wonderful powers, he
caused the stove to erupt in another shower of sparks.

A noise beyond his shelter wall answered this last out-
burst, and Largo leaped to the door to surprise any intruder
that might dare spy on him.

He threw open the thick wooden frame, and saw a fright-
ened Elita.

"I thought you might want some of this tea. Largo. You
said you were feeling ill. This is always good for a fever."

"You shouldn't sneak about like that, Elita! It makes me
think you were spying on me!" Largo's face had hardened,
and his handsome features were more threatening than she
had ever seen.

"I wasn't spying. Largo! I was worried that you were
feeling ill," protested Elita, drawing back a step further.

224 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

"Give me the tea," snapped Largo. "Thank you for it. I'll
have some before I go to sleep."

She hesitated, then stepped forward to hand him the
small teapot. As she neared the door of the shelter, a great
hot wind burst forth, flapping her cape, and causing her to
cry out in terror. "I knew there was something there! I could
see it! Leave it. Largo! It will harm you!"

Largo angrily twisted away from the girl. "You have' to
leave, Elita. This is none of your affair. I have things I must
do before the night is out."

"What have you to do? You told me you were ill."

"You wouldn't understand, you meddling wench! I've
tried my best to be civil to you, but you refuse to let me.
Now I have to ask you to leave me! Go back to the others!"

Elita was sobbing, but it didn't delay Largo's slamming
the door in her face and bolting it.

Sparks and showers of embers were shooting from the
chimney. Some of the largest seemed to have a life of their
own, and they landed on Elita's cloak in a dozen places,
setting the garment ablaze. She shrieked, and tried beating
out the names, but the hot wind caught the cloak, fanning
the fire. Her hair and tunic were ablaze, and she ran, a
terrible scream tearing from her throat, in an effort to reach
the river.

The girl's cries of terror brought Largo to the door, only
to see the receding ball of flames going away toward the
water. For a brief moment something moved his legs into a
half attempt to pursue the burning girl, but then they grew
heavy, and he simply watched, his face drawn into an ugly
leer. The fire in the stove leaped and jumped about wildly,
and the voice of the flames was excited beyond forming
words, and simply made sounds that were harsh and grating
to the ear.

Somewhere near the river, a floating white flower burst
into a thousand petals of intense light, and it began flowing
along the ground in the direction of something that was
making horrible nosies, and coming through the thin wood
directly at the wavering white glow.

A voice, low and melodic, gave an order, and the dazzling

The Track of the Dragon                225

petals formed a soft cloud of radiant golden mist, and as the
screaming Trew girl ran wildly toward it, the mist caught
and held her gently; it covered the flames and slowly lifted
the badly injured Elita and carried her senseless body to the
bank of the river, where the other lights were waiting. There
stood the tall elf who had spoken, dressed in a pale blue
tunic, with golden leaves woven through the fine fabric. On
his head, there was an archer's cap, with a thin white plume
that dropped almost to his knees, and he carried a silver
bow, etched with the figures of animals and birds, and a
quiver of silver arrows that matched.

"What has caused the grief to this child of Hamen?"
asked the elf, in the same gentle voice.

The petals of light returned one by one to their own
forms, and the riverbank was lined with elves who were
dressed like the first, but were much younger in appearance,
without his lines and the sadness at the eyes.

"There was a fire at the shelter of the one who fled earlier,
Camrile. "A fire that smelled of the snake."

The gentle features of Camrile hardened.

**I thought there was something I could not put my finger
to. First the Rogen are stirred and loose, and now we see the
basic cause of it all, brought back to us by the stench of that
nest of fire and destruction from the old days."

Camrile loosened his quiver so he could sit by the stricken
Elita. Her face and hands were terribly burned, and her hair
was but a molten black char.

"This is not the way this was meant to be, Hiter. Bring
me the Second Book of the Realm. We shall ease this
sorrow. I cannot bear to look on this child so wounded."

"But Camrile, it isn't for us to meddle in the affairs of
these Hamens. We have held neutral for all this time, as is
written in the code of the Elboreal."

"I am the elder of the Elboreal now, and I remember the
stink of the doom-snake. We have lived so long that it is
almost forgotten. That was to be the time when we would
see the full circle come, and the ugly head of the Purge
raised again."

"We should not meddle with this Hamen girl! She is

226 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

almost dead. It will cause the Leighter to call us before the
Richlin. We have our orders!"

The speaker was another elf almost as old as Camrile, but
less colorfully dressed. In the place of the silver bow, he
carried a gilded sword, with many colored jewels and
etchwork at its hilt.

"The Leighter will do his duty then, and so shall the
Richlin. If we are called to answer for what I have ordered,
then so be it. We have stood by for many tournets without
involving ourselves. The last of the Elboreal was to have had
the job of simply making sure that all the clans returned
safely to Altana. That job is almost done- And this child is
an innocent harmed by the shadow of the snake."

"She's not the first innocent to suffer, Camrile. Remem-
ber our own!"

"All the more reason to correct this now. If this is the one
thing we ever right in a sad world so full of wrongs, then it
will let my heart sleep easier when it is my time to rest."

Another of the elves had stepped up to Camrile, handing
him a tiny gold-covered book, with a small mithra strap that
held it shut.

"I will need the star water," said Camrile. "And bring me
the dust from the sunflower.. We shall have to work quickly."

"Will you fix her face, Camrile?" asked an elfin maid,
who had knelt at the side of the unconscious Elita.

"She will be more beautiful than before, Danen. There is
nothing in beauty so appealing as that beauty which has
been lost."

"There may not be time, Camrile," suggested another elf,
pointing toward Largo's shelter. "The Hamen there is work-
ing some sort of spell. He's built up the fire, and the stench
of the snake is heavy. He is calling out for the Rogen to Join
him."

A nickering white-hot rage passed over Camrile's fair
features, but the soft sadness returned quickly. "Hold the
candle and the cup, Danen- This shouldn't take more than a
breath of our lives to give her back hers."

The elf then took the candle and cup, and along with the
elfin maid, they chanted a line from the book that Hiter

The Track of the Dragw               227

held, and in a soft whirling motion, Elita was lifted up from
the riverbank and carried away by a floating cloud of golden
mist, until she was at the river's center. There, the mist
parted, and the girl disappeared beneath the cold, crystal
waters, leaving not a ripple behind on the fast-moving cur-
rent that sang its own song as it wound away toward the
beckoning sea.

"Hurry. Camrile! The Hamen in the shelter is coming!
He's not alone."

"Our work is done, Hiter. Call the others. Let us put out
our lights and see if we can't lure this one closer to us. 1
would see who this is who smacks so of our ancient
enemies."

Without further word, the brilliant lights that had glim-
mered and shone beside the quick-running river vanished,
swallowed up by the late hour of the night.

Largo strode purposefully toward the lights, assured by
the voice that spoke to him that there was nothing to fear
from the petty rodents that were the elves. They had been
totally defeated at the Middle Islands, and had crept off to
lick their wounds and count their losses. Never would they
thrive again, for that is what the voice of the dragon said,
and the voice had never lied. And-now there was a job at
hand, that even the elves could not stop, no matter what
they did, for the Rogen were to be made allies, and turned
loose on the lands beyond Trew. The foolish girl Elita had
told him that the Rogen could not be controlled by anyone
but the Lord Trew. But Largo held the key to it all with the
dragon scales, and his ability to call upon the Purge to help
him win over the infidels who did not believe his power.

An eerie, greenish light shone from a coal that Largo
carried in a pair of fire tongs from the stove, and he was
casting his glance about, trying to detect his helpless ene-
mies. The green flames that darted about the lump of coal
grew brighter, and then burst into tiny fingers of green
flame that whirled and writhed about the tong, and moved
up Largo's hand to his arm, until he was at last completely
ringed by the green fire. It danced and leaped all about him,
and the pale colors turned his handsome face into a death

228 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

mask. He searched the ground before him then, and the
green fire grew stronger as he neared a spot by the river
where no living thing grew. The trees and brush that thrived
elsewhere were absent there, and even the water shunned
the dark-rimmed outline that lay in the slime like a broken
piece of shadow flung out into the darker shade of night.

"It's here," gloated Largo. "Just where that foolish girl
said it would be. What luck Argent Largo! With it, I'can
call upon my new allies, the Rogen. Letta! Letta, can you
hear your new master speak? There is no place you can go to
avoid doing your duty for me! We shall march to a grand
tune, your sisters and I! You shall have all the new blood you
want, and I shall have the sweet sureness of driving out all
those who ever crossed me."

Largo threw back his head and laughed a hollow laugh
that sounded thin and broken on the wind that had sprung
up, fanning the green fire until it snapped.

There were strange moans then, coming from the wind
and the river, and a dark line of hooded forms began to
flicker and flare in the greenish black shadows, and a low,
wispy voice called out over the hissing roar of the flames,
barely audible to Largo.

"You have called us in the name of the doom-snake.
Where is our house of flesh? Where are the rivers of blood
that you have promised? If we are to forsake the Lord Trew,
we must have a promise that is bound by all the bond that
holds together the blackest part of fear, and feeds on the
sureness of death. Letta won't let the pretty Largo off with a
promise. He gave that to Letta before, and the monsters
from Trew almost caught Letta in her own form."

"I meant you no harm, Letta! You shall have more than a
mountain of flesh and a river of blood! I shall make you as
bold and feared as the snakes themselves. There will be no
country left below the gates that will not fear and dread the
name of the Rogen!"

Letta cackled wildly, and the other hooded forms joined
together in a chorus of harsh chants and whirled and flung
themselves about by the water, although being very careful
not to touch it.

The Track of the Dragon

229

Largo noticed this, and the cunning intelligence that had
always been his stored the nugget of information that the
Rogen did not like water.

There was another movement along the shore then, and a
silver white skiff shaped like a great swan pulled powerfully
out into the center of the river, and a dreadful-sounding note
from a reed pipe tore against the fabric of the darkness,
causing Largo to cover his ears and reel backward like a
wounded animal.

"It's the Elboreal!" shrieked Letta, turning an ugly shade
of orange, then vanishing entirely, followed by her sisters.
The cries and moans of the Rogen continued on, although
there were no material forms to give them away.

Largo lurched out into the shallows of the river, bran-
dishing the tongs with the wildly flaring green flame that
leaped and darted from the lump of coal, but Camrile held
his ground in the skiff.

"You have forfeited your life in this folly, young Hamen.
If you give up your revenge and swear your oath to me that
you will turn your energy to better usage, I shall release
your life to continue."

Gnashing his teeth in fury. Largo leaped wildly at the
silver white skiff where the ancient elf stood, lunging fore-
most with the tongs that held the hissing and sputtering
green fire which was erupting from the burning coal.

A flash of fiery red and green sparks filled the air then,
and a great explosion came from the swan's head. A water-
spout rose out of the churning river, bearing the elf away
into a spiraling stairway that blazed forth with blinding
colors, flashing one after another against the darkness.

Another explosion of green fire leaped up, then fell back
extinguished, and all was pitch black and silent.

Ambush in the Dark

The fires of the watch had been set, and the sentries made
their rounds of the perimeter of the camp in noisy efficiency,
with jingling spur and squeaking leather harness that held
their swords and quivers. All across the high mountain pass
were stretched the lines of the waiting army, crouched by
the tents and carts and bonfires, awaiting the arrival of the
dawn, which would signal the invasion. There were many
last-minute details to be seen to, and the milling of men and
mounts made a dull roar that carried a note of dread to any
beyond the darkness that could hear it. Arnault and
Morghen both hurried into the large canvas shelter that had
been set up to house Lord Bern the Red. His battle flag
drooped on a tall lance at his door, and his horse stood
already saddled, clad in a dull gray armor, with a single
picture of a bear rampant, painted on the metal in a blood
red color.

"In time, Arnault, you will learn to announce your pres-
ence before you enter my halls," snapped Bern, glaring with
undisguised dislike at the man.

Morghen bowed low, ignoring the remark.

"He means nothing by his rudeness. Lord Bern. It is the
ill-breeding of all the mountain clans of the Channels. We
are not bred to call any man our master, or to stand too
much on manners."

"Then you and all the rest of these rude clansmen will
have to be schooled in my greatness! I have been more

230

Ambush in the Dark                231

lenient than I should, but I swear my oath of blood that if it
continues, I will show you my displeasure in a way you won't
soon forget."

Arnault stood at the end of the camp table studying the
charts laid out there, with the plans marked and squadrons
shown by pins with different-colored strips of ribbon tied to
them.

"We have left a hole behind us. Lord Bern," he remarked
sarcastically, pointing to a spot on the map. "If anyone on
the opposite side has a single brain among them, they will
seize this opportunity without any delay,"

Bern glared coldly at his impudent lieutenant, but there
was no change of attitude on Arnault's part.

This had bothered Bern for the last few weeks of prepar-
ing to strike beyond the mountains, for he could not intimi-
date Arnault, nor find out what secret information the man
had that gave him the cocky air of one who knows some-
thing that will spel! disaster for his enemies. Bern had twice
reverted to using his only hold over the huge gathering of
troops, and as Bern the Red in his bear form, he had
whipped them into a frenzy of battle lust. They were eager
to pour out upon the lands below the South Channels, down
the fair valleys that lay between th'e two great ranges to the
east and west, but Bern could not cow Arnault, and he could
not be sure of his control over his army beyond a certain
point. He had promised them loot and any land they might
desire, but it remained to be seen if he could still hold them
to his will once they were sated with fighting and spoils. This
Arnault who stood before him was one of the keys in how
that puzzle would be answered.

"We have no need to cover our tracks behind us, Arnault.
There will be no one left to explore that interesting fact."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. We have been getting odd reports
of deserters from the Line in these last few days. I find that
passing strange, don't you, Morghen?"

"More than odd, Arnault. 1 have never in all my time as a
commander in the border guards of the Channels heard of
such a thing."

232 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

Bern rammed an angry fist down on the chart table,
upsetting some of the colored pins.

"If you have an argument with me, Arnault, address me!
If you find this so out of the usual, why? What makes you
fee! so? Speak up, if you have a suspicion of some of these
new converts."

Arnault smiled inwardly at having upset the strange
upstart who marched at the head of all the combined armies
of the South Channels. It gave him a great deal of pleasure
to see this grotesque magician ill-at-ease.

That was the ticket, he thought to himself, always keep
the enemy off balance. Aloud, he said, "Morghen has talked
to them at length. He doesn't doubt the story they have told
him. You offered a great fortune to be made by any who
come over to your camp. It's not that that bothers us. It's the
way they seem to be taking the whole affair."

"Almost as though they're too willing to be going about
the business of turning against their own," added Morghen.

"The stragglers we were getting in the early part of this
campaign, I had no thoughts about. Now we're getting
entire squadrons from the stewards of the Line. They have
come in droves these past weeks."

"My thinking was correct then! Give a man something to
dissatisfy him, and he will be a willing pawn to your offer."

"Mayhap, Lord Bern. I have often spent my time wander-
ing among these deserters from the Line. They seem to be a
well-fed lot, and not our usual run-of-the-mill outcast from
the Leech Wastes, or the Bitter Roots. They're orderly and
well armed, and full of bitter tirades against Famhart, the
Rod of Truth, and all that he and the stewards stand for."

"Those are the sort of men we need for the leadership,
Arnault! Would you fill in our command from some of the
rabble you see in the recruits we have from the outcasts?"

"I might prefer to trust their groveling anger. Their plight
seems more real than the things I hear elsewhere."

"What are you driving at, man? You can speak as plainly
as you wish here! If you think these men from the Line are
not with us, we shall dispose of them at the outset. All we
have to do to test them is set them on the first squadron of

Ambush m the Dark               233

the stewards we chance upon. That is a simple way to end all
arguments. If they are not to be trusted, and refuse to fall on
their old comrades, we will stay them all."

"We shall see. Lord Bern. There are rumors that some of
these deserters were of high rank in the Line Stewards."

Bern ears perked up.

"High rank, you say? Are any of these deserters easily
reached? Perhaps we might have a word or two with some of
them."

"Oh, they can be reached well enough. We didn't want to
bother you on this last night of planning. The Rogen Keep is
a difficult objective. We have told you how it is defended."

"With invisible blood-suckers? You surprise me, Arnault.
As a practical man, I find it hard to believe that such things
guard Trew."

"We have seen a man who became a bear before our
eyes," went on Arnault smoothly. "So there could be truth
to the old talcs of the Rogen of Lord Trew."

"How long did your two lands fight?" asked Bern. "Was
it something that was ever settled?"

Arnault's face remained frozen in a smile, but his anger
burned brightly inside him as he answered.

"The Lord Trew took the best of the settlements there in
the corner where you see it marked on your chart. The land
was rich with game and water, and the natural boundaries
made it a safe haven from invaders. We came through a
period of time together, hunting and fishing the same
grounds, and a peaceful existence was held to by all con-
cerned. Then the Channeliers began to grow in number, and
we needed space- There was plenty to spare in Trew. They
seemed to never multiply, so we borrowed what land we
needed to use to help feed our hungry. They at first tolerated
us, and nothing was said, but as the years passed by, and
they saw we were spilling over our bounds, they said we
would have no more settlements in Trew."

Morghen took up the story then.

"We never felt our presence on the fringes of Trew would
be a concern for the settlements there, but the Lord Trew
wanted to hoard the precious water he found in the under-

234 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

ground wells there. It was spoken of by our healers as the
water of life."

"We wanted to share it," broke in Arnault. "It was only
fair. They should not have the only source of healing and
long life. The Lord Trew was supposed to be over five
hundred turnings, but it was said he looked to be no more
than a man of middle age."

Bern watched the two men closely, his eyes dark. The talk
of the secret wells in Trew interested him greatly, for a new
thought was beginning to stir within him, and a plan began
to formulate itself down among the slowly burning embers
that remained of his old existence, before he had been
consumed by the hatred of his brother and father. With that
secret well, he could live on forever, if what Arnault and
Morghen said was true.

Arnault continued the story, walking back and forth
before the camp table.

"It progressed into bickering and offers back and forth in
a plan to share the wells, the Tears of Trona—"

"Is that what they are called?" interrupted Bern.

"Yes," went on Arnault. "No agreement was ever
reached. A party from our settlements went out one night to
try to locate one of the wells, but they were found out. A
battle ensued, and they were all slain or captured. From that
time on, it was open warfare, but lopsided. They have the
wells, and so don't grow old and die as we do. But now we
shall see if we cannot set straight the accounts."

Bern looked sideways at Arnault, watching the man
closely out of the corner of his eye.

"Does anyone know the exact whereabouts of any of these
wells? What was it you called them?"

"The Tears of Trona. There was the legend of the elfin
queen who lost her way on the journey back to the Havens.
Some say these wells run underground all the way to the Sea
of Silence. Then there are other yarns that say the wells
were a curse left to haunt the Darien Mounds for stealing
their queen from mankind. It is impossible to escape this
world if you have drunk from the Tears of Trona, for you

Ambush in the Dark                235

live on and on, even if you should weary of it all and wish to
die."

"What fool would waste a gift like that? It sounds as
though it is a thing that would be lost on many."

"Oh, it has many properties. Lord Bern. I don't think the
only one of interest would be the power it has to give you
long life. They say it can heal wounds and drive away
arrows, swords, and Morghen heard one story that said if it
were poured over stone, it turned it to solid gold."

"No wonder the Lord Trew became a jealous guardian of
his boundaries. If that knowledge got out to all the sur-
rounding lands, everyone would be trying to get those
wells."

"Then he called up the Rogen. They were a part of the
spell woven into the mystery of the wells- I don't know
exactly how it was done, but the bloodsuckers who guard the
borders there are under the control of Lord Trew. No one
knows what has happened to him, or even if he still lives.
We, of course, were sealed out, and forced to stay in the
South Channels."

"Then it is timely that I came to your aid," crooned Bern,
leaping on an obvious sore spot with his reluctant lieutenant.
"I bring a power with me that will unlock those secrets for
us. We shall drink our fill from these wells. I don't fancy the
name, though. Once we have taken Trew, I shall call the
wells the Wisedom of Bern the Red. All who I invite to
drink of the water shall have endless life and swear alle-
giance to me, the true ruler of all the land. We shall drive
out the traitor and the weakling, and establish an order
founded on strength and survival. We will build an empire
where all who serve me shall rule like kings, and the weak
shall be used for what they have always been used best for,
to serve their natural masters."

"You speak of heady things, before their time, Lord
Bern," reminded Arnault. "We have yet to set foot in the
Edges. We had best remember the wise saying from my
childhood that says he who treads a path of dreams would
do well to walk soundly on stones."

"What 1 have in mind will satisfy your plans, Arnault. I

236 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

know you are an ambitious man. I have seen that all along.
Some would think you dangerous because of it, but I think
exactly the opposite. You are an opportunist, my good el-
low. The moment you see that I hold these pauper armies
under my control, you will be quick enough in joining my
plan for command of these simple folk and their lands. Your
smart wit and rudeness will become a thing of the past,
because I'll hold something that you'll treasure."

"And what might the Lord Bern have that Arnault would
treasure so?"

"The use of the wells! With those, we will have a free
hand anywhere. No one can harm us, or slay us, and we
shall live on and on, and all those who oppose us will drop
away like leaves on a fall wind."

"You are very perceptive. Lord Bern. That much I give
you. But what assurance do I have that I will ever partake of
the water from the Tears of Trona? Why would you simply
not exclude me along with all the others who you wish to
destroy?"

"Because, Arnault, I dislike you so much, I would like to
bend that stubborn wilt of yours over to my way of thinking.
It would give me a great deal of satisfaction to see you
grovel before me."

Bern's voice thickened with hatred, but he wore the same
malignant smile.

Arnault laughed aloud in genuine glee. "That's the spirit!
Now we're down to the real way of it! This is the first open
discussion we've had on the subject since you came to
bestow your greatness on us poor devils lost in the
Channels."

"Don't drive me too far, Arnault! I have my limits! You're
nearing the end of my tolerance!"

"What? The magnificent Bern has an end of patience
with his humble servants? They will be sore-pressed to take
that, you know. All your loyal and faithful subjects out
there will clamor for your head if they think you won't
deliver all you've promised them. And if they find out about
the Tears of Trona, they will insist on sharing them as well!"

A terrible change crossed Bern's face then, and his eyes

Ambush in the Dark                237

burned with a greenish fire. His hand was at his sword hilt,
and his mouth was forming the secret words which would
transform him again into his old form.

"Easy, Arnault," warned Morghen, growing alarmed at
the turn the confrontation between the two was taking. "We
have an early call tomorrow. The Edges will require more
than half our attention if we are to win through."

"You may leave us, if you wish, Morghen," said Arnault.
"You can gather our squadrons now. Tell them we will go
over the final plans before midnight."

Morghen was reluctant to leave, but was stared down by
Bern, and at last departed.

"Your friend is right, Arnault- You drive me too near the
edge." Bern was toying with a chart at the top of the stack
on the table. "I know there are things that delight a Chan-
nelier, whether you would guess I know it or not. I have done
my reading on you and the sons and daughters of these
mountains. It is always wise to know who you're dealing
with."

"I would think you should know that better than most,
Lord Bern. You have come from a far-off land with this
strange story of yours, and you have no roots to ground you.
These mountains are nothing to you! I see the look you give
the armies that are gathered to spill their blood for you!
They are no more than two-legged cattle, being led to your
slaughter!"

Bern laughed, a dangerous smile flickering across his
features. "You and I now see eye to eye, Arnault! I've
wondered at your motives all this time. You dislike me, yet
are willing to go along with my plan for reasons that have
eluded me. I do not think it is for love of your countrymen or
the sacred Channels that you go on about so much. I suspect
I know now what drives you."

"You wouldn't know the thoughts that move my heart,
Lord Bern! You and your kind are forever lost in great
causes that stir up the maps or battle charts, and create
empty lands without people, but you never have the least
idea about what it is you really want. You are a powerful
warlord here, at the head of a great army. We move

238 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

tomorrow against old enemies of my homeland, and I feel a
sense of joy in trying to right an old grievance, 1 can face the
day knowing that I shall be able to give what 1 can, and as a
Channelier, I will be upholding the honor of my family. If I
must die. then it will be a good day to die! I understand
Arnault, but I do not understand Lord Bern. I'm not even
sure I would want to try."

Neither of the men moved their glance away, and ifwas
Morghen coming back into the shelter that broke the strug-
gle of wills between them.

"I've brought you one of the last recruits from the Line,
Lord Bern. He's out here waiting to talk to you."

"Send him in, Morghen. I would like to hear what he has
to say."

Morghen bowed, and motioned for a figure who had been
waiting outside the shelter to enter.

A tall, heavily armed man came through the low tent flap,
pushing it aside with the sweep of a thick, muscular arm. He
was dressed in the colors of the new Channelier army,
although he stnl carried the arms of the stewards of the
Line.

"Greetings, Lord Bern! Captain Gio Nashet at your plea-
sure, at the head of a full squadron of seasoned men recently
of the lost territory of the Line."

"What brings you to our camp. Captain Nashet? A little
idea floats around the back of my head that says you have
something more in mind with joining us than meets the eye.
I'm good at spotting rotten wood in a plank."

"You've got the right lads for this bit of work tomorrow,
my lord. My men and I had a splitting hard time trying to
throw off a steward by the name of Stearborn who was
chasing us. Near came on us unaware, too, and caught us
red-handed, but we finally gave him the slip. It'll do my
heart good to be on opposing sides. I'd like to mash his smart
gob in a bit, for all the devil's work he's done me."

"Then perhaps you'll get your chance, my good man. I
like to hear of grievances! That is a good insurance to the
proper performance, is it not? We wouldn't want to hear

Ambush in the Dark                239

that the brave Captain Nashet had played at straddling two
camps."

"My men and I have lived for all these last turnings with
poor pay and little reward, commander- A Line Steward
spends all his time drifting up and down the fallen borders
of a country which has outlived its usefulness. When we
heard of your offers of land and promotion for siding with
your colors, we talked it over among ourselves and decided
that if the Line was sinking, then we had best find the best
road out for ourselves and our families. The older stewards
have nothing to lose, so they won't see the writing on the
wall. It is perhaps better that they die that way."

"Do you think there are many men of the Line who are as
reasonable as you are, captain? That logic is hard to spar
with."

"After this last attack, and all the toll that the turnings
have taken, you won't have any too much difficulty with the
paltry defenses the stewards can put up against this great
force. It won't make any difference at all what reason or
logic you use, for your armies can more than enforce your
word and law. I can tell you for a fact that there are not
sufficient troops guarding the Line to hold against what I
have seen here."

"That's reassuring, captain. However, there is a small
matter of reaching the Line. We have to cross the Edges
tomorrow, and find our way through the territory of the ones
we have been warned about- What was their name,
Arnault?"

"The Rogen, Lord Bern. The blood-drinkers of the Rogen
Keep."

"Yes, the blood-drinkers. You see, Nashet, it is to be
something of a problem even reaching the Line. Perhaps we
can find a place for you at the head of our assault tomorrow.
That would set my mind at ease about your desire to join
me, and give you every chance to cover yourself in glory-
Yes, a splendid idea. Morghen, see to it that Captain Nashet
is at the head of the assault on the Rogen pickets."

Bern dismissed the two with the wave of a gloved hand-

240 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

Nashet bowed low, and followed Morghen out of the
shelter, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry to have been so foolish as to think I would like
this man. He may be powerful, and have the ability to
deliver what he says he will, but I wish I had not found out
how difficult he can be- I'm not used to this sort of
treatment."

Morghen talked as he walked, moving quickly through
the knots of men engaged in last-minute preparations for the
morning's assault.

"Like or dislike have no place in a war camp. The follow-
ers of Bern the Red will be rewarded by how well they have
served. You are a newcomer, and it's only expected that you
shall have to prove yourself trustworthy."

"We had expected that! I don't know what I was thinking
of when I tried to imagine Lord Bern. He seems to be a cold
one."

"You have not been with us long enough to have seen him
take on his other form."

'They say he can take on the form of a bear. Have you
seen him perform that trick?"

"Make no mistake, it was no trick. Liner! I saw him
transform right before my very eyes."

"Yet you seem doubtful about this arrangement in your
camp. Why is that?"

Morghen stopped abruptly and put a warning hand on
Nashet's shoulder. "I am a peaceful man, and I go a long
way aside to make allowances for anyone, but I want one
thing understood between us, and that's that I'm a loyal
Channelier, and always have been. If my actions seem less
than agreeable to you, look to your own conscience!"

A look of utter scorn crossed Morghen's face, but he said
nothing further, and continued on to the fire ahead of them
where the lieutenants were mapping out the final battle
order for the morning attack.

"We shall see who is left after this fray tomorrow, my
good fellow." Nashet grumbled. "There are ways of dispos-
ing of obstacles in the heat of battle without arousing
anyone's suspicions. It will be, *poor bloke, served well. A

Ambush in the Dark               241

dreadful loss to us all.' You mark me well. Master
Whiptongue, Nashet shall have his due. You're almost as
bad as that unbendable tyrant Stearborn, with all his high-
handed talk of duty and loyalty. I thought I had ridded
myself of his likes, but it seems all sides are blessed with the
drumbeaters who love to lord it over anyone who shows a
feel for common sense."

Morghen cast an inquiring look over his shoulder, raising
his eyebrow. "Is there something I need to hear of all that
muttering?"

"You'd like it better if you didn't," returned Nashet, not
realizing that he had been overheard. "It wouldn't sit well
with your soup."

The two had reached the wide expanse of charts laid out
on the ground, with lamps lighted at all corners, and men
marking off quadrants here and there, assigning duties to
some, or sending runners to all parts of the camp with the
latest marching orders.

In spite of himself, Nashet had been impressed with the
huge, sprawling war camp, and the endless rows of tents and
fires that spread away toward the dark outlines of the
mountains. It was a camp such as he had never seen in all
his life with the stewards, and a part of him trembled with
uncontrollable excitement at the fact that he was at last to
be with a victorious army. He doubted that even if all the
squadrons of the Line were gathered together—and they
were scattered on a dozen directions now—that they would
be of sufficient force to deal with the troops Bern the Red
had marshalled.

"It is time for a change," said Nashet, half aloud, trying
to rid himself of the faint leaden feeling that had settled in
the bottom of his belly since his conversation with the
commander of the invading army.

"A change is always good for what ails you," agreed
Morghen, who had overheard the Line captain. "It chases
away the boredom and stirs the blood to a fever pitch. Here!
Come here, and I'll show you what we wish of you bold men
of the stewards.'*

Morghen leaned closer over a section of the chart on the

242 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

ground before him, and pointed a gloved finger at a spot
near a rushlamp that was spreading its orange light over the
map in strange patterns of melting shadows.

Nashet leaned close to see where the Channelier had
chosen for his attack, and it took him some time for his eyes
to adjust enough to the poor light to be able to make out his
objective.

When he did register the information, it was all he could
do to not let the held breath in his lungs out in one explosive
protest.

"We have had reports of the Rogen Keep for a week now.
It is one of the first objectives in the Edges that we must
secure. If there is any truth to this business of the blood-
drinking watchers there, I'm sure you'll handle them quite
effectively, so that we won't have to keep our forces split for
too long. We are using a pincer movement to cross their
borders in three places, and to sweep on until we join forces
here! By then, we should have no more to do than take
prisoners of whoever is left of their army."

"These blood-drinkers are there," said Nashet, his skin
cold beneath his heavy cloak. "I have heard of them all my
life. They can become invisible, and carry many spells from
the ancient rock-dwellers."

"Is that so?" asked Morghen. "Then it will be well to deal
with them before we commit ourselves too heavily in the
other areas."

Nashet's heart leaped to his throat, and no words would
come. He broke out in a cold sweat, and had to swallow a
few times in order to keep from choking. Across the large,
unrolled battle chart, stood his old commander, Stearborn,
looking at him coldly, his huge hands resting at his belt,
near his longsword and quiver.

Before Nashet could give the alarm to Morghen, a dozen
battle horns pierced the night with strident, sliding calls,
and the sounds of ringing steel and fire-torched wood
drowned out everything else. In another fleeting moment,
the encampment was embroiled in the wildfire suddenness
of the ambush.

He whirled, his naked sword in his hand, but where

Unexpected Allies                     243

Stearborn had been, there was now a rushing line of stew-
ards, closing fast with the startled Channeliers and their
armies. For a brief moment, Nashet saw the proud red
banner of Bern floating on the fiery blast of battle, but it
wavered and disappeared into the melee, replaced by the
white-and-gold pennon of the Line, carried by what
appeared to be a small child in brilliant silver mithra armor,
and brandishing a gleaming longsword that flashed through
the darkness like the tail of a blazing falling star.

Unexpected Allies

From across the river ahead, Famhart could see the lights
dancing in the distance, wavering above the dark water, and
disappearing at times behind the trees that came down to
the grassy banks. They had traveled many miles that day.
The Tybo had run foul with the signs of ruin further on
ahead, and on more than one occasion, they had seen dead
horses wash by, followed by what was left of human
remains. There was no way to tell if it were enemy troops or
allies.

"There were two more, sir," reported Alac, reining in his
horse beside his leader. "That's more than a hundred we've
counted."

"And no telling how many more we may have missed in
the dark. There must be some big battle going on ahead of
us, lads. Let's press on! The sooner we're next to this
question, the quicker we'll have our answers."

"They might not be the answers we're looking for," grum-
bled Alac. "From the looks of things. I'm not so sure I want
to confront whoever has been dispatching all these soldiers."

"Is that a man of the Line I hear?" chided Famhart. "A

244 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

steward's job is never to leave a riddle unsolved when you
find it in the field."

"I might be a bit more inclined to think that way if I had
a nap and something to eat," complained Standin. "I think
alt the rest of the lads feel the same way."

"We shall have our rest and food, Standin. I fear I drive
you young whelps like I used to drive my old guard. I forget
you're but youngsters to alt this. Call a halt, Alac, and we'll
rest the horses and have a hot meal."

"A fire, sir?" questioned Alac. "With all the strange
lights we're seeing, do you think it would be wise to show a
fire?"

"Aye, and a big one. I think it's time the Line Stewards
showed a bonfire the size of an army. Light a dozen, if you
can find the wood. Let's set this part of the Tybo ablaze with
the grandeur of the stewards!"

Alac and Standin looked at each other with worried
frowns.

The others of the group sat quietly in their saddles behind
the three, not sure of what to do.

Famhart whirled, and shouted over his shoulder.

"Do we let the beggars know we're stewards of the Line?
Or do we continue to skulk on like thieves? What's it to be,
lads? Shall we start now to behave like the men we are?"

A smattering of tired voices replied with muffled, "Ayes,"
but it was a subdued band who remained quiet, looking
worn and showing their youth.

"Well, well, lads," said Famhart in a different voice. "I'm
afraid I was still trying to go back to my old ways. My old
guard would have turned to, but those were different times
then, and the world was another place."

"We could camp here for the rest of the night, sir, and
start again at sunup. I don't want to overrun whoever those
lights ahead belong to before we know if they're friend or
foe."

"Alac is right, sir. We're all done up. We've come more
than a good distance this day. Even the horses are finished,"
said Standin.

Unexpected Allies                     245

Famhart had dismounted and idly took a small locket out
of his shirt, where he wore it on a chain against his breast.

"I have been driving too hard, my buckos, but I've had
this weight riding over my heart. I keep thinking that any
day we'll perhaps find the one thing that will help Linne."

"We want that, sir, more than anything, but we shall have
to have our strength to carry it back. And to light a fire now
would be sheer folly, sir."

Famhart laughed wearily. "Do I hear my lieutenant cor-
recting the commander? Is my upstart whelp already so
eager for the job he tries it on for fit before the old dog is
ready to lie quiet?"

Alac started to protest, but the older man cut him short.

"I Jest with myself, Alac. I can see the wisdom to your
words. I am tired, and my judgment seems to find some
other place to dwell at times. I have been sleeping in my
saddle, I think. Those lights we have been following seem to
have gone! Was I dreaming them?"

"No sir, we all saw them. They've been out there ever
since we first caught sight of them just after sunset." Alac's
voice was strained, and he ordered the others of the small
company to dismount and form a defense line. Standin
hurried away to make sure all get the order, and whistled
from the darkness a few moments later to signal all was
well.

The sound of the river seemed to grow louder then, and
the silvery light with its broken reflections wavered like a
shiny ribbon over the water, curling and turning as it flowed
past the horses and riders of the Line. It had grown colder
after the sun had gone down, and there were small clouds of
white mist at the nostrils of the animals, and from the men
who waited beside them in tense silence.

"It can't have been any of the raiders," whispered Alac,
straining to see into the darkness. "They never operate this
way. They would have attacked at once, if they thought we
were here."

"1 agree, Alac. If it had been any of the various bands we
know of, we would already be up to our knees in gore. That's
why I was banking on my bonfires to draw out our elusive

246 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

friends. No one can resist a bonfire at night. It's as sure a
draw as a keg of honey to a bear."

"I'm not so sure I'd like to find out who they are, or what
they want until I've had a few hours of sleep, sir."

Famhart was only half listening to his youthful subaltern,
for his attention had been on the change in the water's
sound. There was something familiar to the different tim-
bre, and it reminded him of something. He turned his head
slightly, trying to detect exactly what it was, but Alac spoke
again.

"We have the dried beef in our kit, so we won't need the
fire, sir. We'll know soon enough about who our visitors
might be when daylight gets here."

"You may know before then, tad," said Famhart, drop-
ping the reins to his horse, and easing closer to the icy river.

"What—" Alac began, but another change in the water's
sound came, and a floating bouquet of tiny, glimmering
stars floated toward them, out of the black shadows that
were cast by the taller woods on the far side of the
streambed. There was a very soft reed pipe playing, and the
air it carried was sad beyond belief, and it was all the men of
Famhart's squadron could do not to weep at the fragile
melody.

Alac turned to question his commander, but he saw the
two small streams of tears that glistened on Famhart's face,
and fell back silent, his eyes wide and unbelieving, as the
shimmering cluster of sparkling gold and white stars rose
out of the water into a form no bigger than a half-grown
child. The face was concealed in the folds of a gleaming
white cloak, and there was a small circle of mithra, which
came to a crown of five stars, each one a different hue of
brilliant gold and blue.

"We should have lit the bonfires, Alac," breathed
Famhart, although it was not the tad he was talking to.

A voice, if voice it could be called, for it was so musical,
sounded like the refrain of notes from a haunting pipe or
flute.

"What is it?" whispered Alac, who was joined by

Unexpected Allies                     247

Standin. The horses had begun to stamp and shake their
manes, trying to move closer to the shimmering tight.

"I never thought I would see their likes again," said
Famhart, his voice very soft, to keep it from breaking.

"From the winds of the Sea of Silence, we bring you
tidings, 0 Rod of Truth, ally of old. The Elders sent us out
to seek the bearer of the flame that keeps the word of truth
and honor. We have seen many things that have saddened
us. We are near the end again. But greetings to you,
Famhart."

The commander of the Line bowed low to the smalt,
glimmering figure, and unstrapped his sword so he could sit
down in the grass at the water's edge.

Alac and Standin stood immobilized, as were the rest of
the troop.

Out of the light, there grew another, even brighter and
larger, until there was a wall of glittering white and gold
that lined the bank of the river in both directions. Across the
dazzling, shimmering water, there rode a stately craft
shaped in the likeness of an otter, and driven by a small
white sail that filled and pulled as though there were a fierce
wind blowing, although it was still and calm everywhere
beyond.

"What is it?" whispered Alac again, this time louder.

"Hush!" warned Standin. "I've heard of these folk.
They're as likely to change us all to stone as not, so be
quiet!"

As the small boat came to rest on the shore at Famhart's
feet, he stepped forward and knelt, holding out a hand to
someone who was disembarking. In all the glitter and reflec-
tion on the river, it was difficult for Alac and the others to
see, but the general outline of the small figure suggested
that it was a woman.

"You have surprised me. Lady Elina. I would have
thought you and your clans would have long been gone over
the Boundaries."

A small laugh, like tiny bells heard from far away, came
then, and another voice that reminded all there of the
musical notes of a flute played softly on a still evening,

248 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

Neither Alac nor Standin could make out what was said,
but their leader leaned closer, and spoke something in
return.

"I don't like this," said Standin, keeping his voice hushed
not to be overheard-

"Shut up!" snapped Alac. "I never dreamed I'd clap my
eyes to anything so strange as this! I always thought the
tales from the past were just yarns to keep us youngsters
impressed with the wiseness of our elders. Look at that,
Standin!"

"I'm either dreaming or gone off my gourd," replied his
friend, his eyes wide with awe and wonder at the'scene
before him.

The lights had grown softer, pulsing now with a golden
glow that covered everything with a shimmering reflection.
It had a strange effect on Famhart's soldiers, and they
began to sway to and fro, as if listening to an unheard
melody.

"Your travels have taken you a long way from the shores
we met on last, Famhart. I think we both look the worst for
wear."

"You never change, my lady," replied Famhart, reaching
out to take the hand the elfin queen had offered.

Her touch was at once electric and silken, and Famhart
touched her wrist with a kiss.

"1 hear from my lendens that there has been a great
sorrow upon your house. Our sister Linne is still
unrecovered?"

There was a sadness in the deep gray-blue eyes that
touched a buried spring of grief in Famhart, and he wept
openly, unable to make any reply but to nod.

"I have heard it that the Scourge of the Islands is back to
all her old tricks. I did not think then we had seen the last of
her."

A small silver tray inlaid with ivory and red and green
jewels appeared, and a small tea service was laid out before
Famhart.

"My men have had no food or rest, my lady," he began,
but she cut him off.

Unexpected Allies                     249

"It is being taken care of. They shall not remember much
of this, but it's just as well- We have not a great time left
before our hour is done."

Famhart gazed for a long while into the soft, sad eyes of
the Lady Elina, then turned to his men, who were all fast
asleep beneath a rainbow-colored canopy that breathed
above them in the damp night air.

They will be rested and strong on the morrow. We shall
travel by my highway tonight. You shall be where you need
to be soon, old friend."

"We are far from where we need to be, my lady. There is
another week's march ahead of us before we reach the
Edges of Trew, and the Silver Mist."

"You were once shown what an elfin hand could do when
it was turned to a problem that seemed beyond hope."

"I remember well that night on the landings of the South
Beach, my lady. There was never a braver deed done than
what your kinsmen did for the glory of Windameir."

The Lady Elina sighed, her gaze growing deeper still, and
Famhart suddenly heard the snore of the ocean as it was
that fateful night, and the plash of boat and oar cutting
through the waves toward the shore where the elfin army
was landing the combined forces of-Windameir on the beach
called Death's Handle by the Dark One and her allies.

"It wasn't to be the end of the illusion, it seems. Even
when Trianion called forth the Purge and carried them
away to the Fields of Light, I knew there would come a time
of change here in the Lower Shandin. We have seen my kin
and the Dwarlicht lines closed away from all. It is a new
time for the Black Death to reap her crop of new converts.
All the old ones have gone over the Boundaries, and there
are fewer here now that know how to combat her."

Famhart laughed wearily. "There are so many holes in
our defenses that it wouldn't take a very strong effort to
overthrow all that's left of decent beings that still live. I was
asleep for so long when we came home from the Middle
Islands that I didn't dare let myself think that it would be
simply a matter of time before we were faced with all the
same dangers as before."

250 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

"Perhaps more! This sleep that Linne has fallen into is
nothing but the old thrall of the Dark One. We have seen it
for as long as we have been locked in the struggle with her
on these fields of Windameir. Yet it is written that no otae
shall be left here- We will not be able to rest until we have
called Home all those who strayed or were lost to the
Darkness for a time."

"I have always wondered about that, my lady. It was h'ard
to understand why your race ever got involved at all with the
affairs of men* That has brought grief and destruction to
your kind for as long as we have been lost in this battle with
the Darkness."

"You are no different than our clans, Famhart. We shall
be able to leave these fields when we have claimed the last
fallen Elboreal who have gone astray. Each race is charged
with that duty."

"You mean the humans will be here until we have called
all the outcasts and bandits and evil ones back to the side of
Windameir?"

The elfin queen nodded gently, pouring more tea for the
exhausted Famhart. The soothing sweetness of the tea was
slowly washing the weariness from his bones and clearing
his head.

"There are circles we all complete, my dear old compan-
ion. It happens that the lot of my people falls to rest sooner
than yours. But you must remember, the Elboreal are much
older than your race. We have been at work here in the
Lower Shandin for as long a time as even the Dwarlicht
clans, or the older races that have long since crossed over the
Sea of'Silence."

"I would like to make that trip with you, my lady. If only
I had Linne at my side now, I think I would gladly forgo
everything else, just to know I was bound for rest and an end
to this madness that plagues the Wilderness."

"It always falls out this way, it seems. When we are
weary enough, and have no desire left to hold us down to the
task here, we have some attachment to something that
always pulls us back. There is more to your lady's wounds
than I have heard from you or my lendens."

Unexpected Allies                     251

"It was her brother," explained Famhart, his voice edged
with a rage that burned white-hot against his brain. "We
thought we had seen the last of the poor accursed beggar
long ago, but the Dark One has evidently seen fit to return
him to us for more mischief. He was the one who sent the
poisoned brooch. The blackguard is offering a fee for all the
stewards of the Line who join with his army in Trew, so my
troop and I are on our way to oblige!"

The Lady Elina reached out a hand to touch Famhart.
"You shall have your wish there. The Eye of the Elboreal
never misses a mark. I have seen it so, just the way you say it
will be."

She held up a delicate hand, and the ring on her third
finger flashed and spun out a golden ray of light. It seemed
to draw Famhart into the color, pulling him closer and
closer, until at last he gazed into the depths of the golden
pool that lay at the bottom of a great distance, further in
and deeper than a mountain lake. It then turned a gray-
blue, the color of the eyes of the Elboreal, and there were
ribbons of silver run through a black background, and it
took him a long while to see that what he watched was a
river,, seen from above, as though he were floating freely in
the air.

"What is this?" asked Famhart, trying to make out the
now changing scene that went on before him.

"Look closer, my old friend. You will see for yourself."

In the next breath, the river was full of light and dazzling
silver boats that pulsed on the water like wind kissing the
silent surface and breaking it into a hundred reflections, all
turning and spiraling away like colored glass in front of a
fire.

"There are boats there,'* he said at last. "If we had boats
for my squadron, we could be in the Edges without anyone
the wiser."

"You shall have your boats, old friend. The Elboreal have
been ordered to assist you."

"But how can you assist those of our size, my lady? It is a
thought well taken, but I cannot see how all my men would
fit into any of your craft on the river. You and yours are

252 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

welcome to join the march for the Edges, and to join us in
whatever adventure we may meet there."

A slight laughter filled the air, and the Lady Elina rose
and walked to the bank of the swift river.            '*

"Your men will have no recollection of anything," she
said, turning toward the still figures of Famhart's squadron.
She waved a hand twice in a small circle, and drew a tiny
pipe that sounded almost like the voice he had heard before,
but then the silence crept slowly over the glade by the river,
and everything seemed to grow so still that he had a hard
time keeping himself upright. There was a slight aroma of
pine and musky water smelt that reminded him of the sea,
and then the silver boats were there, pulled up on the shore
before him, looming as large as cathedrals in the drawings
of the old ruins of Boghatia.

"By the Sacred Blade, where have these giants come
from, my lady? I never thought such things could come and
go on so small a patch of water as the Tybo."

"You are correct upon that, dear Famhart. We have
simply made things a bit easier to transport. The Elboreal
have always had difficulty in this world since the Hamens
have grown so much larger, and all the other life has gotten
so immense as well. Something needed to be done to bring it
all back into proportion, so I've just altered you and your
men for a short while, until you reach your journey's end at
the Edges. Others are traveling there as welt, and great
trouble is stirring in the South Channels. It will be well to
have as many of our kindred there as we can, for a great
danger has been stalking us ever since the Middle Islands.
It's like a shadow that you can't quite see in the broad
daylight, but the dark brings on all the fears and uneasiness.
That is the splinter that the Dark One left to all those below
the Boundaries."

Famhart looked about him- There were elfin warriors,
dressed in full battle armor, climbing over the sides of the
sleek watercraft, and helping to pull the boats to even higher
ground. In the boats were elfin mounts, the small horses that
he had not seen since the days of the invasion of the Middle
Islands, which now seemed so many worlds away.

Unexpected Allies                     253

He felt old and tired in spite of the refreshing tea the
Lady Elina had given him.

"We shall take your men and their horses aboard these
slendils, and deliver you to the Edges by dawn. There you
may find what it is you are seeking, my friend. Your wife's
sickness had its beginning in Trew, and there is a cure for it
there as well. The Tears of Trona may hold the answer for
you."

"What are these things you speak of, my lady? How will I
know them?"

"They will know you, Famhart. But a great danger lurks
about them, for they are guarded by the Rogen- They are
dangerous enough, even for us, for although they cannot
slay the Elboreal, they can harm us in other ways that are
more painful."

"How is that, my lady?" asked Famhart.

"They can sound like the Forgotten Wind, and deafen our
ears to the sweet music of the pipe and harp, and cause our
eyes to see only dark shades by day."

"I thought no one could reach your secret places, my
lady."

"None but a few can. The Rogen were given that secret
by the Lord Trew, when he sealed off his country from the
outside. He was a chief elder in the war of the Middle
Islands, and he knew both the runes of the Dwarlicht and
the Elboreal. He knew we might try to keep him from
falling prey to the power of the Wells of Trona, so he
thought to keep us all locked safely away from him."

Famhart watched silently as the horses of his squadron
were loaded aboard the elfin ships, looking no bigger than
small fieldmice. One by one, his followers were carried
swiftly to the boats and put on deck for the coming voyage
up the Tybo River.

"You shall have allies to help you with the Rogen. The
Lord Trew was not quite so thoughtful about his own house
when he set out the guardians he called up. There are those
there who will help you. You must find the ones who have
remained true to the Light."

"How shall we know friend from foe there, my lady? I

254 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

have never traveled there, or know of anything that would
mark an enemy from a friend."

"You will find that easier than you suspect, Famhart. I
have seen a great tide turning, and there are more forces
loosed this night than what 1 could explain to you in such
short space as we have."

"Then we need only finish the loading of my squadron,
and set our course for the Edges! I ache to be doing some-
thing. It is always the worst to lie awake at night on the eve
of action, thinking of all the things that could go wrong."

"You Hamens have long tortured yourselves with that
trait, Famhart. We of the dreamers know what is to be, so
we don't dread the coming of the end. That was the hardest
part to ever get accustomed to, when we were very young in
the Lower Shandin. The Elboreal have always known from
the time we first visited the Wilderness that we would spend
a long, lonely time here, always aware of every hour and
minute that we would have to stay."

"Didn't we humans ever have that curse to bear?" asked
Famhart, following the Lady Elina as she walked slowly to
the last of the boats that had landed.

"You still have it to bear, although sometimes I think you
forget it on purpose. There are never any of those powers
taken away."

"I forget them, and all the rest, unless I am with you, my
lady. I seem to shut out these things that I am witnessing
tonight, just as I chose to ignore my son's stories of the
strangers who rode the talking horses. Linne was always the
one to believe that anything was possible under the sun. It
makes me sorry to think that we quarreled over so many
unimportant things."

"You shall have time to mend your mistakes, old friend,
with any luck at all. Behind the worst of our sorrow there is
the promise that when it is met and dealt with, it can no
longer hurt us."

"I hope that is so, my lady. To be separated from Linne
has been the worst of it all. We were together through all of
our time at the Islands, and our worst dangers and sadness
we always faced together."

Unexpected Allies                     255

"That's as it should be," answered Elina, giving the order
to launch the elfin craft back into the swift, cold reach of the
river.

Famhart stood at the rail of the finely wrought boat,
watching as his own horse stood stamping the deck behind
him, surrounded on both sides by others of the squadron,
calmed and quieted by the steeds of the Elboreal. In another
instant, he was listening to the horses talking among them-
selves, and suddenly he heard a name mentioned that took
him back in time to the beginning of this last desperate
adventure.

"My lady, do you know of a man who goes by the name of
Gillerman? My son met him, and told me of his talking
horse. I never suspected anything at the time except an
active imagination, but after listening to your steeds just
now, I was reminded of Owen and his excitement."

The elfin queen shook her head in answer to Famhart.
"But we may know this man you speak of by another name.
If he has one of the high animals of the Upper Shandin, then
the Elboreal must surely have knowledge of him."

"Speaking of my son has saddened me again, my lady. I
have left him to guard his mother until my return. He
insisted that we go toward the South Channels to find this
Gillerman. His sword was given to him by this fellow, and it
has some sort of unusual power, I take it."

"It might be one of the weapons forged in the fires of the
Mount of Skye- They were given to all the ancestors of the
lost ones who were sent to the Wilderness to find those who
had strayed."

"You mean you've heard of these swords?"

"There were many forged, although some have been lost
over the turnings. Some, it is said, have fallen to the Black
Death. All those she has captured, she keeps buried in a
desolate part of her domain. They give her great pain, for
they are fired with a spark of Windameir, and their flame of
truth cuts her to the quick."

"I have been cut to the quick as well," went on Famhart.
"Talking of my wife and son has struck a note inside me that
rings like a funeral dirge."

256 THE CHALLENGE OF THE STEWARDS

"Perhaps I can cast the Eye of the Elboreal about for
news of your young fry. If he carries the sword you say the
Mentin gave him, then I might perhaps reach him."

Famhart's hand grasped the rail of the elfin boat in\ an
effort not to stumble backward. "That is very kind of you,
my lady. If you could find news of him, that would ease my
heart greatly."

Elina turned her attention to the ring she wore then, and
her eyes became misty and passed through color after color
as Famhart watched. The motion of the elfin boats was
almost as motionless as passing through air, but Famhart
could see the dark shadows of the wood gliding swiftly by,
and there was a soft humming sound that came from some-
where beneath the deck.

In a dreamlike trance, a boy far away caught at the thin
edge of a dream that held him captive in a gloomy cave far
below the light of the sun, and played strange music in his
ear. It was a faint voice, coming from a great distance, but it
was persistent, and kept calling softly into his sleep. All he
wanted was to fall back into the deep pools of oblivion he
had been soothed by before the disturbing dream, but the
voice seemed to grow nearer and nearer, calling his name.

For a brief instant, Owen saw the beautiful face of a
woman who was not a woman like any he had ever seen, for
there was something about the eyes that were older than any
human mind could comprehend, and more beautiful than
the heart could bear to look upon. There was something that
reminded him of his mother, and then after a dazzling
display of lights, the sword seemed almost to have exploded
out of the scabbard at his side, setting him bolt upright in
the confines of the small room, next to Kegin.

THE THREE
KINGS

Collision Course

The dark outline of the trees stood silent and foreboding as
the moon rose slowly above the jagged outcroppings called
the Marienhalm Slides on Stearborn's charts. The darkness
beyond was lurid with the red eyes of the watchfires of the
great war camp of the one called Bern the Red.

Stearborn sat silently on his horse and watched for a long
while, until his lieutenant cleared his throat noisily, and
made a feint at moving away.

"We'll be traveling by moonlight now, sir. We have need
of more secrecy than we'll have once the Old Sow is out
full."

Stearborn didn't seem to hear at first, although he finally
nodded, and reined his mount around. "Have we established
contact with the Elm Squadron? Did our messengers reach
Chellin Duchin?"

"They have signaled just before dusk, sir. The smoke was
from Cobber and Dally. I would make them a day away."

"If they were here, we'd attack tonight," grumbled
Stearborn. "By the Sacred Blade, it makes my blood boil to
think of these slippery vipers right beneath my boot heel
without being able to strike."

"They are too many for us, sir! We would never stand a
chance against these odds."

"You grow too cool-headed, Gaide. Too many years of
sitting at the council table learning your facts! By the Eyes
of Glory, what I'd give to have more of the hot blood I used
to have!"

Here the big man dismounted and walked beside his horse
as though he were unable to sit still.

258

Collision Course                       259

"You still have all your hot blood, sir. Nobody would ever
say that the leader of the Pine Squadron is any less the man
he once was."

Stearborn snorted out a short laugh, then grew more
good-humored.

"I wasn't referring to my hot blood, Gaide! I wish I had a
few more like Chellin Duchin and that rough and rowdy
bunch that he holds together with that iron fist of his."

Gaide blushed, and looked away from his commander as
he spoke. "You have all the same makings here, if only you'd
notice."

The commander of the Pine Squadron stopped and turned
to lay a hand on the pommel of the saddle of his lieutenant.
"Gaide, you've been a brick, when it comes to hot water and
stews that would have sent another man fetching a backway
out of the muddle. And the rest of the lads are as good as
any that have ever carried the white-and-gold for the Line.
Never think that Stearborn of Pine Squadron didn't think
his lads weren't the top of the mark in every way!"

He let his reins fall slack, and turned out of the faint trail
to look back over the great Jagged edges of the Marienhalm
Slides, and at the endless line of watchfires beyond.

As he studied the vast dark scene, he saw a movement
down along the pale silver ribbon of the river, and suddenly
turned his full attention on the new addition.

"What do you make of that?" he asked Gaide.

"I don't know what to make of it, sir. Look! It's all up and
down the river!"

"But this side, lad! Whoever they are, it's this side of the
river."

"Then we could be in for a bad night, sir, if it's some of
the blokes from over there!" Gaide's eyes moved away
toward the war camp of Bern the Red.

"Wrong kind of light. I feel something else, as well! And
listen! Do you hear the music?"

Gaide tried to quiet his hammering heart long enough to
\ hear what his commander spoke of, but he couldn't calm his
racing thoughts or feelings long enough to try to
concentrate.

260 THE THREE KINGS

"Roust up the lads! We may be in for it yet! Set out the
pickets, and bring Jurin up to me! I want to see how we
stand on supplies."                             l

"We'd have plenty if we could win through there," replied
Gaide. "I dare say those beggars are having a better supper
than we've had in a long stretch."

"You may get your supper yet, lad! Don't count out that
idea too quickly!"

Stearborn watched carefully as the lights on the river
dimmed, flared once, then all fell into darkness again,
deeper and more complete than before. The afterglow of the
bright golden white lights burned on in shaded halos as his
eyes readjusted, but he could not shake the idea that who-
ever had shown the lamps at the river had been friends.

A vague echo of a story Famhart had told him long ago
began to enter the fringes of his awareness, and he grappled
to try to find the thread of the yarn, but without much
success, until he remembered it had to do with an old clan,
and that they were called the dreamers.

The music had grown somewhat louder, and he strained
to pick up the melody, which was somehow sad, but very
hopeful at the same time-

Gaide seemed to hear something then, too, for they both
fell into a profound silence, listening with every pore of their
bodies for the evidence of danger or safety. The hair at the
nape of their necks was raised, and the very blood inside
their veins seemed to tingle in anticipation.

Further down the slope, right at the river's edge, a swirl of
dim lanterns or rushlamps could be seen, although neither
Stearborn nor Gaide could identify the shapes that seemed
to move through that confused darkness like faint wakes on
the face of a dark lake.

"We'd best get the lads ready, in case we have to make a
fight of it," said Stearborn, although without much
conviction.

He drew out a small, finely carved horn from his cloak,
and putting it to his lips, blew a short series of soft notes that
sounded no louder than a night bird's call. After a few

Collision Course                       261

moments of anxious waiting, there was an answering note
from somewhere down the gloomy hillside.

"They're all in place," reported Gaide. "Now we'll see if
our visitors are friend or foe."

The rushlamps grew brighter as the last of the horn notes
sounded, and there was a flutter of activity that grew more
urgent, causing Stearborn to utter a short oath under his
breath.

"If they keep this up, they'll have every sentry on the
other side of the river up at arms, and the whole of the
South Channels will be down our backs before we can
concoct a good spiel as to why we're dallying about on this
side of the river."

"Maybe they are the sentries from over the river," sug-
gested Gaide, although he was feeling none too sure at the
moment. "I wish they would make it plain, red or white, as
to what banner they fly."

As though complying with the brash young subaltern's
wish, the lights flared for a moment into a golden white halo
that lit up the water, and cast dazzling reflections that
leaped and turned on the deep, serene face of the river. In
that few seconds of clear light, the two men saw what was
plainly a white pennon, with the-golden crest of the Line
boldly stitched across it.

"What mystery is this?" cried Stearborn, and he mounted
quickly, spurring his horse toward the river.

"Wait! It may be a trap, sir! It might be Nashet or some
of his band!" cried Gaide.

"He would never have the backbone to fly the colors so
near the war camp there. If it was Nashet, he would have
skulked about tike a wet rat, waiting for a safe time to bite!"

Stearborn had thrust his horse forward into a brisk trot,
and rode boldly forward toward the gathering host that
began to show itself at the water's edge.

"Let me call up the afterguard, sir! Don't go down there
alone!"

"Come on with you, lad! If you are ever to know what it is
to be a steward of the Line, then stop all the thinking and
yapping, and feel the blood that runs through your veins! It's

262 THE THREE KINGS

the blood of the Line, lad! It's in you because your father
and his father before him had a thing or two to say about
where they dwelled, and how they lived!"         /

The older man was riding faster now, and he came down
the hill with a clatter of hooves and scattered stones, which
threatened an avalanche with every stumbling effort the
horse made to keep its footing.

Above the noise of the horse and rider, Gaide heard a war
horn, high and clear, but it was cut off abruptly; then there
were others, each a trembling, high note, blown once, then
again; and another rang out at the end, lower and of-such a
resonant timbre, that it raised all the hackles on the back of
the young subaltern's neck.

He had turned his horse, and now rode back toward the
squadron's camp, to draw them into battle order to follow
Stearborn's lead.

A tired and restless knot of younger stewards accosted
Gaide, wanting to know what the furor had been about.

"Now, lads! We have a rendezvous at the river. Stearborn
has us marching to glory across the way. Hop to it, me
bucks'. Look alive there! We're going to take Bern the Red
by sweet surprise, and turn all the blighters back across the
borders!"

"Stow it, Gaide!" called a young man with a three-day
growth of new beard. "We've been on this patrol so long
we've lost count of trying to catch anyone, or to do a
steward's job of clearing out the Line! Just point us in the
direction the Old Fox has gone, and spare us your blooming
second-in-command palaver."

"You can hear which way he's gone, Previn. Just listen to
all that hoop-lolly by the river."

Previn and his comrades stopped and listened then, and
turned wondering faces to each other.

"That to-do will help tip off anyone across the river that
we're here," said Previn, his brow furrowed and troubled.

"Exactly what I told Stearborn," conceded Gaide. "But
you know him. He has some idea that if we announce our
presence every so often here, all the scouts for the enemy

Collision Course                       263

camp will think we're just another renegade squadron com-
ing to join in with the ranks of the invaders."

"I hope he has that right," mumbled Previn. "And if he
doesn't, I hope we shall have a chance to at least quit
ourselves well in the bloodbath that follows,"

"You've a gory way of thinking tonight. Previn! Have you
been too long on this little outing? It seems as though we've
been waiting and holding off our attacks for ever so long,
especially since we crossed over into the territories that are
run by that bear master.'*

"Bear master or not, whoever he is, he's raised an army
the likes we've never seen the match of."

Gaide looked away over his horse's head, tightening down
his cinch strap.

"I never thought there were so many who held the Line as
an enemy. And the rumor runs that there is another hot-
brand in the South Channels with an army as big as this.

"We didn't pay enough attention to Stearborn and his
tales. Or to Famhart either, for that matter. I always just
thought they were funny old men who went off on a cam-
paign once, and liked to tell it all over again when they
thought they could catch someone new to tell it to."

A loud cheer had rolled up over the crown of the small
hill, and echoed back upon itself.

"Up, lads! Let's see to it! All in a skirmish line, now!
Hup!"

The squadron mounted as one man then, and with Gaide
leading, the mounted riders cantered noisily across the
rocky flat, and descended into the valley where Stearborn
had disappeared earlier.

As the troop neared the river, a dim line of rushlamps was
lit, lighting the faint bed of the road, and leading the
company straight on toward a dark mass of shadows that
lingered restlessly at the water's edge.

There was a charge in the air that electrified all there, and
Gaide had a brief overwhelming fear that they had some-
how all been tricked into an ambush. He was on the verge of
drawing his weapon to make a fight of it, when there before
him on the path stood Stearborn, feet planted wide apart.

264 THE THREE KINGS

and flanked on both sides by Chellin Duchin and his whole
crew.

When Gaide looked again, there were also small figures,
dressed all in a faintly gleaming silver armor, that took the
reflected flames from the rushlamps and burnished the light
into a soft reddish golden glow that flickered and moved in
the darker pockets of the night like an answer to the signal
fires of the war camp that lay sprawled across the rivfcr-

"Gaide! Have the lads dismount and stake camp here!
Here is the rogue of a Duchin himself, with all his renegade
helpers, right down to the twins' I had hoped to be able to
see these ugly faces within the space of a fortnight, but
we've been lucky, and luck has come in the form of "a clan I
had only heard tales of."

One of the small figures clad in armor stood beside Chel-
lin Duchin, and spoke something to him that the others
could not overhear.

Chellin raised a hand to speak as the elf withdrew, and
pointed toward the war camp across the river. "Our good elf
here has told me of a new arrival in the camp across the way
there! It gives me a good feeling to know that we are to deal
with the cream of the crop of all that that rabble has to
offer."

"And we want to carry it all on the banner of the Line,"
reminded the elf. "It has to be done that way, or we shall
only muddle it up the more."

"The Hepling has his point," muttered Port, who was
echoed twice more by Starboard. "If we go into the camp
now, we shall have less to deal with than if we wait until
tomorrow to try to deal with all of them fresh and after
breaking fast."

"But we have to have an order of battle," protested
Jeremy. "There will be no point in any of this, if we get
hung up in the river on the way across. Remember the
Channeliers have boasted of some of the finest bowmen that
have ever been."

"We won't have to fight our way across the river, Jer-
emy," corrected Stearborn. "You and the good Erases will
hold back the brothers, and all the rest of the squadrons,

Collision Course                       265

until we have established ourselves into camp across the
way, and give the signal. That should be later tonight, when
the last of the watch is trying to remember to stay awake."

Judge and Hamlin joined the outspoken faction who
favored a more prudent line of approach, but Port and
Starboard, ever nodding and agreeing with themselves in
endless small signs and signals, stood firm with the older
commander of the Line. In the end. Erases, his small fair
features troubled by the long time it was taking for the
companions to make a decision to move, blew a short, quick
note on his reed pipe, and the river seemed to erupt with row
on row of the staunch little battle skiffs that the waterfolk of
the Elboreal handled so skillfully.

"It is past time to leave these hostile shores. Steward! We
have heard many tales from the river tonight, and we must
prepare to receive more travelers on the Elverhan Road
before this long day is over, so I beg of you, please be so
good as to come with me- We will equip you with the best of
the old mithra shirts, and our shadow cloaks as well. I don't
think this fellow Bern is quite expecting to run into a light
show on such unwarranted notice. It might distract him
while the others pounce on the rest of the camp."

"Pounce we shall," repeated-Port, running his thumb
down the keen edge of the blade of his longsword. "I haven't
had any good pouncing since the older days before the Line
was surrounded by a different kind of enemy than she's
facing now."

"A different sort," went on Starboard. "Our old mother
used to tell us that it was to come to this, and we should stay
in Trew!" Here he shook his head sorrowfully. "Sometimes I
wish I had listened to her."

"Then you wouldn't have had the pleasure of being an
endless burr under Chellin Duchin's saddle blanket!" chided
Chellin. "And think what a sorrow that would have been to
you!"

Erases broke into the conversation as he lightly scrambled
aboard his lead skiff. "There's work afoot, citizens. Make
your peace among yourselves, and let's set to the errand at
hand!"

266 THE THREE KINGS

Stearborn bowed low to the elf, and blew a short note on
the horn he took from his belt. "Look to it, lads! The Line
shall have its reckoning soon! Hop to it! We have elf barges
to haul our worthless hides, and a hundred to one odds to
keep us sharp!"

A ragged cheer went up from Stearborn's squadron, and
that aroused a cheer from the men who rode with Chellin
Duchin. As the last echo of the stewards died down, the elfin
host gave forth a spine-tingling war cry that made the men
of the Line glad of soul to know that they fought for the
same cause as the small warriors of Windameir.

In their mithra armor, the Elboreal soldiers looked ten
times larger and more fierce than they were, and the steel in
their weapons gleamed with a terrible white fire that
reflected in their eyes.

"It is the flame of the Elboreal," whispered Stearborn to
his young underlings. "The have called it from the old days
at the Middle Islands."

"The what?" asked Judge, his eyes wide as he watched
the elfin host launching their skin's and pulling strongly
across the swift current of the river.

"The weapons they bear were forged at the beginning of
the Troubles. It's on all the swords and shafts they use! See
them flashing?"

"I've never seen anything like it," conceded Hamlin. "I
thought your old stories of these mystic works were just a
play at keeping us in line."

"They were meant to do just that, lad! It looks as though
it worked, too! I'm always glad to be able to bear out a story
in fact, though. Nothing rubs so raw as a good chaffingstone
that has its edge to the skin. We spend a lot of our time
swatting at webs that aren't there, and battling ghosts from
our own heads. It's good to get down to it, and hear the cold
steel ring against steel. We know the way of that."

Jeremy's eyes were alight with the powerful emotions he
felt at watching the scene unfolding before him, and the fear
was lessened as he listened to this elder of the Line, whose
name was known far and wide as one of the true heroes of
the stewards.

Collision Course                       267

"I don't know why this is different from any other time
we've ever gone into battle, Stearborn, but I feel it's so, and
I'm glad that our squadrons are joined together."

"There will be more, youngster," said Erases. "The Eye
of the Elboreal has spoken of many things that flow on the
back of the river now."

As he spoke, the elf held out his hand, and the gray-blue
stone in the ring he wore burst into a brilliant golden white
halo of light that flared up suddenly and reflected in the
thousands of small mirrors hidden in the dark face of the
river.

"It's Famhart!" cried Stearborn, looking deeply into the
faint visions that danced in the elusive shadows of light.
"And Linne!"

"The Rod of Truth from the Middle Islands," repeated
Erases. "It is a time when the strongest are called, and the
lines shall be drawn."

"Where is Famhart, master elf? Will we see him in any
way except this spell that you weave?" asked Chellin, trying
to draw himself back to the solid ground of his own senses.

"You will see him before another sun sets, good Chellin.
The Lady Elina has taken his squadron aboard our river-
craft, and is on her way to find us even now."

"Three squadrons," echoed Stearborn in an almost
dreamy voice. "Three squadrons of the Line together, and a
host of the dreamers as well! It will be a fine reckoning, I'll
wager! The Devil of Entwender take the hindmost, when we
strike out to this skirmish!" The steward elder struck his fist
into his palm so loudly he startled Judge and Hamlin into a
little frightened jig.

"It will be a fit way for a steward of the old school to close
out his books," said Chellin. "After all this time, to be called
into duty with the fierce clans of the Elboreal is the greatest
crown an old soldier could have."

"You speak of it as a finish, friend, when it is yet the
beginning- We have a long path ahead of us in this
direction."

Erases held out his hand, and the ring gleamed and shone
a bright white orb of light that slowly circled and whirled

268 THE THREE KINGS

and finally became a solid image of a great host of men and
elves, stretching away in every direction.

"We but begin tonight- There are times yet to come that
we shall deliver what we have to deliver, and find an end to
the road we travel together."

"Then let it be a long and successful road, and one that
gives us victory for Windameir," said Stearborn, raising his
sword in salute to the elf,

"Hear, hear!" chimed in Chellin Duchin and the others,
and they were joined by the squadrons of the Line, all
raising their salute and filling the night with a terrible
promise of truth that lit the darkness with their hope and
courage.

As the fires of the war camp across the water burned on
into the night, a slight edge of a frozen wind began to blow
from the forgotten halls of the Dark One, and a bitter fear
stung the heart of Bern as he tossed and turned in a fitful
sleep beneath the bright banner of the Red Bear.

The Return of the Elerwan

Kegin stood up as though he'd been shot! There was no one
else in the close, sweet-smelling darkness, and he cursed
himself for having slept. If anything had happened to Owen,
he would never be able to face himself again, and in his rage
and frustration, he began to pray for an overwhelming
number of enemies to strike him dead, so that he could
perish honorably.

"That's all I would ask," he said, half aloud, and was
surprised to hear it echo dully in the dim gloom of the small
room the Dariens had tricked them into.

The Return of the Elerwan              269

"Hush," came a voice, from a deeper shadow near the far
wall. "There's someone out there!"

It was Owen! Kegin's relief made him, for a moment,
giddy, then he was clutching at his weapon as he joined his
young ward.

A sticky, sweet aroma filled the room, coming from a
crack along the floor at their feet. Neither Owen nor Kegin
could place the smell at first, although the lad finally caught
at the fleeting images it evoked, and plucked at his memo-
ries until something connected, and he remembered the
smell that had been in the air the night his mother had
pinned the fatal brooch to her cloak.

"It's flowers," hissed Owen. "The same that felled my
mother!"

Too late, the two began to seek a way to retreat from the
noxious fumes that slowly filled the room, and Kegin had to
help the struggling youth to his feet twice, feeling his own
consciousness slip dangerously closer to a deep black void
that loomed nearer and nearer to him, filling his mind with a
cold dread that was the worse for its lack of form.

"It's the flowers, Kegin! They have murdered us the way
they snared my mother! And I can't avenge any of it!"

Owen wept with a rage that kept his senses from falling
under the relentless fumes for a time, but at last all went
dark, and he knew no more. Kegin dragged the senseless lad
for another few steps, then fell in a daze.

A faint crack of light shone in at the very center of what
seemed to be a solid wall; then widened, until two faces
could be seen, peering intently into the gloom.

The Dariens moved boldly forward once they saw the two
fallen outlanders.

"It was as easy as Querle Unidan said it would be," said
the first, speaking in the odd-sounding tongue that had
amused Owen so much. "Even the one with the fire-blade
was nothing to fear- We were foolish to have worried."

"And now we have the Elerwan back. She has been gone
long," returned the second.

"All will go well for us now. We shall move the Channe-

270 THE THREE KINGS

Hers and the outlanders from our borders, and grow as we
once were growing. We shall go beyond twenty hands yet."

"Perhaps thirty or more. The minstrel will make a good
seam, for he is thirty bands, at least."

The two small figures rolled their eyes in wonder, and
repeated several times the magic number of thirty hands.
They stood at the wall near the unconscious companions,
and went through a strange ritual that had one mount the
shoulders of the other, and walk about like jugglers, reeling
like a drunk, and finally facing a wall and making a strange
hieroglyph at about the eye level of a human adult full
grown. These were the strange markings that the compan-
ions had seen earlier, on their way to the Fourth Chamber of
the Darien Mounds.

"Look, Lolin! It won't be too many turnings before we
shall all have the tall, and be able to frighten the birds out of
their very trees!"

With this, Lolin and his friend. Lobe, tumbled upon the
shaft floor and rolled with unrestrained glee, kicking and
biting at each other like maddened beasts, then turning
somersaults backward and forward until they were
exhausted with their efforts.

After they recovered somewhat. Lobe sat up and grump-
ily said they should take the prisoners to the Querle.

"The sooner the better," agreed his friend. "The minstrel
won't be happy." Lolin laughed an ugly laugh. "No, no, not
not happy at all, when he sees his friends roped and tied and
to be fed to the Tears."

"He thought he was such a clever dog! It has been a long
and wasted time he spent learning to whisper in the sacred
tongue of the mounds. Only enemies were able to break our
order and master the low speech. He has said it was one of
the Old Ones who taught him, but the Querle says there are
none of that race left- None but the outlanders come to the
Dariens now, and we know why."

The two mound dwellers had tied up Kegin and Owen,
and dragged them to a small opening near the front of the
chamber they were in.

The Return of the Elerwan               271

"Call for the drudge, Lolin."

"That I shall,"' replied his friend, and he placed his
fingers to his throat and made a slight chopping sound that
was half whistle and half screech. He paused, then repeated
it again, and waited until he heard an answer somewhere in
a lower quarter of the vast underground maze that was the
Darien Mounds.

As Lolin and Lobe waited. Emerald sat impatiently at the
table of the Querle Unidan, baffled and angry at the evasive
answers he had been receiving.

There were a number of strange discs stacked before the
Querle. They were obviously some sort of important relics,
for as Unidan touched each of them, the other Dariens
present all bowed twice to an invisible point over Emerald's
head, and touched their hands to their hearts many times.

The minstrel asked again what it all meant, and
demanded to know the whereabouts of his other
companions.

"You and I have some difficulty in making our meanings
exact," explained the Querle. "We must find a way to bridge
this."

"My meaning is exact, 0 Querle- All I ask is to know the
whereabouts of Darek, he or she, and my young ward,
Owen, and his keeper."

"They are keeping. You will see them very soon. We have
to all be present at the well for any of the law to have effect.
You are most fortunate, 0 minstrel, to be the key in so great
a moment for the Darien clans."

Emerald looked at the gathered half-dwarfish, half-
human faces.

"I would consider it extremely good fortune to know what
is going on, and to what honor I owe all this good fortune!
You know my friends and I have a very urgent mission that
we are embarked upon, and that we have no time to spare in
anything other than what roads will lead us closer to our
destination."

Here Unidan smiled broadly, and said something aside to
his nearest companion, who smiled in his own time, nodding
his overlarge, round head vigorously.

272 THE THREE KINGS

"Your destination is not to be what you thought, sir
minstrel. We now have all we have needed, and what was
promised to us when the tide began to run against the
Dariens."

Unidan paused, looking about the circle of mounders.
"We were scorned a long and weary time for the conduct of
the good founder of our realm. He discovered the only way
open to save our race, but it brought shame and disfavor on
our heads that we have borne all these turnings."

"You speak of the first King of Darien, 0 Querle. What
has he to do with me or my friends?"

"Everything, sir minstrel. We have long known a secret
that is written here on the Code of Sherin. It is the ritual to
free us, that will give us what we must have to be free!"

Unidan's eyes had grown wild as he spoke, and his hands
trembled as they touched the odd discs before him on the
table.

Emerald felt a cold tremor somewhere deep in that hid-
den place in his mind that warned of danger or madness. He
slowly let himself believe that if he were to emerge from the
Darien Mounds unharmed, and with his friends, he would
have to find a plan that would allow him to do it, for it was
plain the Dariens would not release them of their own good
will.

"We are to be free at last," agreed the others, all nodding
at once, and beginning to grow as excited as their Querle.

"How do you think that I shall be able to help you, 0
Unidan? Or my humble compatriots?"

"It is in the Code of Sherin! It is all here, 0 minstrel. All
the signs have been met, and all the old sayings have come
to be. We will escape the curse of the Darien Mounds yet!"

"There is nothing to escape, 0 Querle. You have long
been a friend to those of my calling, and to all the Old Ones
who came and went here peacefully."

"They used us in ill-trust," snapped Unidan, a harsh edge
creeping into his voice, but Emerald could not tell if from
anger at an old injustice, or madness.

He looked more closely at the halflings then, and discov-


The Return of the Elerwan              273

ered that they all suffered from the wild eyes, and the
desperation that comes from being too long shut out of the
world. A wave of pity flowed through him, although riding
at the tailend of it was a great apprehension for the safety of
himself and his friends.

"I don't think the Old Ones would use you ill, 0 Querle.
Let us try to call up one of the masters! We shall lay all this
to rest. You have one here who has one of the blades from
the forges of Skye."

"We know of him. They are being brought here now."

"Good," said Emerald, breathing a sigh of relief. "Then
we can reach a bottom to all this, and set the course anew."

"Oh, we'll set the course anew, well enough," agreed
Unidan, laughing his disturbing laugh again. "We shall
indeed set the course straight. It has run a crooked path so
long I had begun to wonder if there ever should be a way
that would lead us out of these dark chambers."

The minstrel began to try to find something in Oilier-
man's teachings that would be of use to him in this danger-
ous moment, but nothing came to mind, except the Dariens'
hatred and loathing of all things dwarfish.

"If you would like, I could sing you a tale or two of some
delightful folk that have a bearing on your situation! It is a
catchy tune, too."

Emerald had taken his harp from its case as he spoke, and
stuck a plaintive chord or two. As he looked from one
mounder to the next, he began to hum along, then he fell
into full song, an ancient melody that Gillerman had taught
him long ago, of dwarflore, and time, and the ending of the
delvings upon Atlanton Earth.

He had gotten no further than a few bars, when he was
stopped in midnote by the arrival of a hairy, misshapen
creature called a drudge carrying two unmoving figures:

Owen and Kegin.

A white-hot rage fired his soul, and it was all he could do
to not draw his longsword and run it through the Querle's
heart. He subsided a bit when he saw that his companions
still breathed, although they were clearly under some sort of
spell.

274 THE THREE KINGS

"Now you see what we have in store for saucy minstrels
who would mention a certain race in these sacred cham-
bers," said LJnidan, his lips drawn back in a sneer. "We shall
move on now to our next rendezvous, which will bring us
nearer our lifelong dream!"

The other Dariens broke out into excited babble, and
hurried to stand beside the drudge.

"May I be allowed to go with my friends?" asked Emer-
ald coldly, but in a level voice.

"They will have no more meaning for you soon, sir min-
strel, but you may walk beside the drudge if you have. a wish
to do so. We are going to the well to cast these two-in, and to
draw a drop of your blood to mingle with the blood of the
young woman you thought was a man-child. Then the Code
of Sherin will be complete, and the prophecy fulfilled. We
will have tall!"

"Tall, tall, tall," chanted the others, all in a dull monotone
that echoed back again from the stone walls of the shafts. It
sounded as though the voices were joined by others from
above and below, and soon the entire Darien Mounds was a
dull, throbbing voice inside Emerald's head, mouthing the
one word over and over again.

This, Emerald thought, is where Gillerman should have
made his appearance to calm the heated Darien Mounders,
but his old master was very strict about never appearing
where he was really needed, thereby forcing Emerald to rely
upon himself and the teachings that Gillerman had been
trying to impart.

There was a strange noise Just below the awareness of the
Darien's chant, something that was hovering just at the
threshold of memory, but it kept eluding Emerald in his
nervousness. He had badly misjudged the mounders and
forgotten that without his master, there were places in the
Lower Wilderness that proved to be unsafe for anyone; yet
there was a nagging notion that there was something in his
presence that would prove to be of use.

The drudge grunted and shuffled along in front of the
minstrel, and he at last noticed the fact that Owen still wore

The Return of the Elerwan               275

the longsword that Gillerman had given to him, and the
gray bag that the lad had been wearing was strapped tightly
across his back.

As Emerald walked, it seemed to him that the low, hum-
ming noise was coming from Owen's body, or something
that was on his body. At last, a turn in the tunnel caused the
drudge to shuffle the two humans in such a way that Owen's
longsword rattled free of its scabbard. It filled the shaft with
a blazing golden white light, causing the beast to squeal and
drop its load clattering and banging onto the hard stone
floor.

"Now you've done it!" shrieked Unidan, lunging forward
to help the guards retrieve the spilled contents.

A weary smile played at Emerald's face when he saw that
nothing had happened to the gray bag or its contents, or to
the blade of Skye. Almost without hesitating. Emerald
retrieved the sword and stood holding it still and steady as
though it were something that he had done many times
before.

The Dariens fell back hastily, and Emerald eased his way
forward to a tunnel that had the runes of a forest and sea
emblazoned across the archway.

"Keep him from the well!" screeched the Dariens' Querle.
"Don't let them near the well!"

The druge lumbered forward, dragging its long, hairy
arms on the stone, but the minstrel held out the sword of
light trefore him, and it pulsed ever brighter, turning away
the beast, who let out a howl of pain and confusion.

A knot of mounders tried to rush Emerald to overpower
him, but were stopped dead in their tracks by an invisible
wall that stretched out around the minstrel and the still
unmoving forms of Owen and Kegin.

"They must not reach the Elerwan! Save the new queen of
the Dariens! Is there not a mounder among you who will
throw down this fiend who calls himself a friend to the
traitors of old?"

Unidan had gone red in the face, and his blood vessels
stood out in blue lines across his forehead.

More Dariens appeared then, from side shafts, armed and

276 THE THREE KINGS

with blood in their eyes. Emerald held the sword with one
hand, and tried dragging Owen with the other, but in the
instant it took him to look down, a mounder had loosed a
bolt from one of the short crossbows- The shaft had crackled
past the minstrel's ear in a buzzing, snapping sound. There
were more then, and the air seemed to be full of angry
hornets, although none of the bolts found their mark.

He had gotten Owen to the opening nearest to him, and
could see a faint blue light emanating from somewhere in
the distance, although he could not make out any clear
definition to the nature of the chamber. By now, Emerald
saw that the sword was somehow protecting him from the
bolts from the crossbows, for the shafts were deflected away
just as they neared him. He left Owen in the opening of the
chamber, and hurried back for Kegin. The Dariens were
pressing forward now, urged on by Unidan, who leaped and
screeched like a demon gone loose of his tethers, and frothed
at the mouth as though he would grind his teeth through the
very bones of his jaw.

The minstrel feigned an attack on the nearest knot of
mounders, and they flew backward from him in terror,
dropping their crossbows in a panic.

"The Elerwan is by the well! We must save her!" cried the
Querle, leaping ahead of his faltering troops, and rushing
headlong at his hated enemy. At a distance of about three
feet from Emerald, the Darien elder stopped abruptly, as
though he had crashed into a solid stone way, and fell
backward, stunned and silent. A long, low moan swept
through the ranks of the Dariens then, and two of the
bravest of the lot crept out of the crowd and dragged
Unidan back to a safer distance from the terrible radiance
of the sword Emerald brandished. Its light had grown more
spectacular, and changed color, from golden white to an
almost pure blue-white that was so dazzling it blinded even
Emerald. A humming noise continued to come from the
blade, and as the minstrel tugged Kegin into the relative
safety of the blue chamber's doorway, he began to detect a
noise that reminded him of a voice, although it seemed far

The Return of the Elerwan               277

away and indistinct. When he recognized who it was, he
almost wept with relief.

"Gillerman!" he shouted. "Can you hear me? I hold the
sword you gave to the lad! He's been taken by one of the
spells of the Dariens! I need your help!"

More bolts shot from the mounders crackled by his ears,
and he couldn't make out any reply from the voice in the
sword, but the lights had flared up even brighter when he
had called out to his old master, and he sensed there had
been some connection of a powerful current as he spoke.

Emerald began to make out a soft, blue light that bathed
the center of the chamber into which he had dragged Owen
and Kegin. The floors were almost a transparent color,
making it look as though you could see through the very
floor of the rock itself. The roof was so high he could not see
the top of it, and a soft plashing of water and the feeling of a
damp, cool wind led him to believe that he was in the
chamber of the well the Darien elder had called out to the
mounders to keep him away from.

As Emerald pulled his two senseless companions along
the smooth floor, he felt that he was nearing something older
and more powerful than anything of the Dariens' history,
'and the sword took on another softer color of blue, as if in
answer to the blue light of the chamber around it.

"They're trying to destroy the well!" screeched Unidan,
come to his senses again, and whirling about himself in
frenzied circles. "Let the Rogen take them alt! Call up the
blood-drinkers' We cannot let these invaders reach the
sacred well!"

A chilling cry was heard then, echoing down the cham-
bers of the Darien Mounds, followed by others.

"You should not have spoken of them," shouted one of the
Dariens, fallen back, his face a mask of terror. "The Lord
Trew said only those of the pure line would be spared if the
Rogen were ever called to the Darien Mounds."

"It's true," wailed another of the stricken Dariens. "We
have long lived without the threat of that godless lot! This is
no time to open ourselves to their treachery."

"You fools," blustered Unidan. "Can't you see the cost of

278 THE THREE KINGS

this? The invaders are at the well! We will lose the Elerwan!
We shall forfeit all!"

A low moan passed over the gathered Dariens, but/ not
one of them pressed their attack- This gave Emerald a
chance to get both Kegin and Owen further away from the
entryway into the chamber he had escaped to, which evi-
dently held something of great importance to the Dariens.

As he lay back to rest against the wall of the chamber
next to the young son of the elder of the stewards of the
Line, Emerald thought he could make out the shadow of
another figure laying still and quiet, and covered with what
looked to be a funeral shroud. His heart skipped a beat, and
a gray, leaden fear choked him, making his body seem stiff
and old as he got up to go to the terrible silent form. The din
and confusion in the outer hall subsided, or his ears no
longer heard it, and the chilling sounds of the unearthly
beings who haunted the mounds held no terror for him that
was greater than his fear of pulling back the silken shroud
that draped the youthful form that lay beneath it.

With a strength he did not know he had, and by calling
out to the Great Friend of Windameir, and brandishing the
blade that had been fired in the flames of Skye, the minstrel
slowly pulled the soft coverlet back, revealing the familiar
face of Darek, only changed and more beautiful.

With a start that surprised him, the eyes of the youth
opened, and without a further word spoken between them,
two arms flew around his neck, and a weeping young lady
cried desperately at his chest, her shoulders shaking in
violent sobs that struck at the very chords of Emerald's
heart.

Death of a Spy

A long, black finger of smoke curled menacingly along the
horizon, blotting out even the higher snowcapped peaks that
were the beginnings of the Mountains of Skye, far away and
beyond the last of the South Channels. Twice there were
ominous rumbling sounds that might have been mistaken
for thunder, had not the pale, falling dusk shown no clouds
that would signal a storm. There had been other disturbing
signs for some days past, and Argent Largo paced restlessly
in the shelter, hurrying back outside at every sound. He
twisted the ends of his riding cloak, and started up nervously
at any sudden noise, although the twilight was like so many
others in the strange land he had wandered into, full of
lightning bugs and soft evening breezes off the river, and
rich, sweet smells from the forest.

Since the disappearance of Elita, Largo had stayed away
from the river, for the lights still came to haunt him, and the
terrible music of the reed pipes drove him into a frenzy
whenever he heard their thin voices, rasping away at his
head until he thought he could bear no more. He had
managed to scrape and dig out enough of the dragon's track
on the deadened riverbank to replenish the small supply of
scales he carried in the amulet at his neck. But even that
was bothersome to him now, for it burned and galled his
skin when he wore it, and frightened him badly when he
didn't. He dreaded being without his only protection against

279

280 THE THREE KINGS

the Rogen, who railed at him daily to be set free upon the
mountain of flesh and blood they had been promised.

"Curse her bleak heart!" muttered Largo. "Just when I
need the wench, she chooses to leave me!" He muttered a
foul curse beneath his breath, and entered the shelter once
again, although he was unable to sit or eat any of the food
that had been set out for him.

"Blast that batch of mullets that call themselves Children
of Trew! If they had a brain the size of a pipe stem, they'd
see my argument and march tomorrow! Now they've got the
rest concerned with the Rogen, and lights on the river, and
all the rest."

He Jumped up abruptly, and stormed out at the sound of
an approaching horse.

"By the Dregs of Sedon, it's about time you've dragged
your mangy carcass here. Mouse. Get down and come in! I
want you to show me on the maps how we stand tonight."

Mouse, a frail-looking gray man with a drooping gray
mustache, touched his hand to his forehead, and bowed a
dozen times as he did as he was bidden.

"All saints preserve you. Argent Largo, and your sons and
daughters, too. May you see a dozen lifetimes more, all in
fair weather with no storms!"

"Silence, you mongrel! Show me on the maps what I've
asked you for!"

"Surely, surely, your radiance. The tidings are many, and
it has took myself and horse a long and weary hour to
traverse all the camps and to find all the news you asked me
for, sir. My throat still has the dust caked thick, and my
tongue needs a lubricant to carry all the load it must bear to
you this night."

Mouse rolled his eyes about, looking for a bottle to ease
his pains, and he grimaced openly, as though struck, when
Largo waved him to a water pitcher that stood on a side
table next to the charts.

"It has been dreadful long of a ramble, sir, and some of
the vagrants you calls commanders are rough to the touch,
sir, I can tell you in no mincemeat terms."

tt! can tell you in no uncertain terms, you maggot, what

Death of a Sfly                      281

I'm going to make of you, if you don't give me the reports
that 1 sent you after!"

Even though he threatened the cowering Mouse, Largo
went to a cupboard and returned with a long-necked brown
bottle that caused the trembling man to smile and nod.

"Thank'ee, thank'ee, sir, plumb from the dead bottom of
my cranky old heart. This here will do the trick, no doubt!"

Without further word. Mouse tipped up the bottle and
drank half the contents without a breath, and when he had
finished his drink at length, he let out a long sigh, and wiped
his mouth on his sleeve.

"You've been took for a bad omen, sir, says some I've
heard today! There's dirt abroad about you up at the double
fork camp! They says the Red Bear is already at work, and
there won't be nothing left by the time we pulls up stakes
here!"

Largo spat, and took a long drink from the water pitcher.

"The Red Bear! If I hear that miserable name once more,
I shall tear out the tongue of any who utter it in front of me!
I have heard his name these past weeks until I grow sick to
my soul of listening to the number of troops who have gone
over to his banner!"

"They can't be blamed," said Mouse, shaking his head.
"Begging pardon, sir, but they can't. All the spies that have
found their way in always tells these brigands the same
thing! The Red Bear will give them more gold and land than
Argent Largo, they says, and Argent Largo keeps to his
camp like an old woman, and won't even have so much as a
glass of kindness with his lessors."

Largo grew redder and redder as Mouse spoke, but the
other man didn't notice until it was too late to soften his
speech.

"I would have your tongue, you worm-slime, but I need it
to keep on wagging in that vacant head of yours long enough
to finish your reports!"

"Well, it wasn't me what said them things," protested
Mouse, cowering before his master.

"Not you, but other scum just like you," snapped Largo,
his eyes wild and vacant. He had begun to hear the infernal

282 THE THREE KINGS

reed pipe again, just below the subconscious level, where it
hovered like a mosquito in the darkness.

"And the riverfilth is back again, even though the Protec-
tor promised me they were finished," he went on, his voice
rising.

"Protector? Begging pardon, sir, but which protector does
you mean? The Lady Elita is gone for dead, after all the
talk I've heard. There's some what say you was the one done
for her."

The bitter young man whirled and struck the informer
with an open palm, sending the slightly built fellow crashing
backward into the map table.

"It wasn't me what said it," whined Mouse, holding a
hand to his bleeding nose.

"Then mind your tongue about your betters! The Lady
Elita is on a secret mission for Argent Largo. Let all those
scum who wonder where she is be as brave and loyal to
Largo as their lady is! Tell them that when you're skulking
about on your appointed rounds'"

"I always says only the best of you, sir, you knows that!
The old Mouse weren't nothing for a snake to avoid a'fore
you come, and he knows it, right well. Why, there wasn't no
use in cuffing Mouse! I always makes the very top pitch
when it comes to talking of you, sir!"

"Then pray get on with your pitch now! What do the front
pickets make of all the business up toward the Edges? How
close are the Channeliers to attacking? Have the scouts
been able to say which way the push will come?"

The slight informer seemed to grow larger as Largo
questioned him, and he reveled in his new importance.
"They has come up on two fronts, sir, one up the north side
of the Silver Mist Pass, and the other down toward the
Edges. Some say they is bent on the Darien Mounds, but old
Mouse has his own thoughts about that cursed lump of a
devil's business."

Largo's eyes narrowed as he looked at his charts and tried
to second guess his invisible, but highly present rival for the
control of the Lower Meadows. Ever since he had heard of
this man they called the Red Bear, Largo had planned and

^>eath of a Spy                     283

schemed to snare the fellow by cunning and trickery, rather
than risk his growing army. For though he had promised
each one who joined great wealth, it was obvious to Largo
that the warriors he drew to his camps were of lowly, outcast
clans, who could not be relied upon if the element of dread
were removed from their hearts. There had been a few more
performances since the disappearance of the Lady Elita,
and Largo staged each of his appearances to best quell the
curiosity of all those who would know more of Argent
Largo, the bold avenger who sought recruits in the wilds of
Trew.

With the calling up by the dragon-spell of the Rogen, he
had been able to open the boundary of Trew to the soldiers
he desperately needed, but according to all the scouts'
reports he had received for the past days, the army of the
Red Bear was vast beyond the scouts' ability to count.

This had ruffled the brother of Linne for a time, until he
remembered the dragon's scale, and the deep, dark part of
what had once been his heart, opened to a new, more vile
plan. It would be perfect vengeance on his sister, and death
to this upstart who challenged him for mastery of the South
Channels, and Trew, and all the lands beyond.

"Blast his eyes to dust!" snarled Largo, "He's put in to
the wrong quarter if he thinks he'll just walk into Trew at
his fancy! I've got Letta and her sisters at my beck and call
now, full of the blood-lust, and hungry for a morsel or two
like the mighty Red Bear! We'll see how well his troops
stand up against the Rogen!"

Largo had to stop there to let out a deadly laugh, for the
memory of his encounter with Letta was still fresh with him,
and he relished the thought of having such allies at his
disposal.

"There's been much smoke today," said Largo, off on
another tack abruptly. "What do you know of it?"

The informer wrinkled his pale brow, drawing a hand
across his face.

"That's frightful puzzling, sir. Some say as its funeral
pyres, and others says its the burning of the tithes, as is wont
ever year, but it's not harvest time yet."

284 THE THREE KINGS

"I know that, you miserable thorn! What else?" ^

"Watchfires! They say they can seem 'em from Noodle
Dome, plain as if they was right there with 'em!"

The messenger nodded briskly three or four times and
took another deep pull off the long-necked bottle.

"Yes sir, I thinks along those lines for myself, I does."

"I don't care a whit about your opinion, but I think you've
struck near the truth of the matter. It doesn't make sense to
believe they would have fired a settlement. There's none to
be fired, as far as I can see, according to my charts."

"Oh, they is out there, sir, but you won't often come on
them. When them blood-drinkers you call the Rogens was of
a mind to suck all the vigor out of any poor soul that was not
pure Trew, there was a covey of settlements all over those
parts, and right on out to the Edges. Then the killing
started, and anyone who was able left for the better life.
Like as not, they was all drunk up, too."

Largo shuddered. "How did they manage to miss you,
you poor wretch?"

"They came at me fierce, sir, don't think they didn't! But
my old granddam was blue-blooded Trew. I remembered
the little songs she used to sing me when I was a cub, and I
think that finished it."

"What songs, you wretch? Sing me one!" commanded
Largo.

"They ain't nothing to get riled over, sir. They just make
a lot of nonsense noise, and you jiggle your throat like this!"
explained Mouse, holding his nose and thumping his
Adam's apple with the heel of his left hand.

The noise was enough to drive Largo to distraction.

"It was a wise Rogen that shied away from that cater-
wauling. I could hardly fault them for it! You may have
more use to send out as a spooker toward an enemy garrison!
All you have to do is the same thing you've shown me here."

"Oh no, sir, it wouldn't do none at all well for anyone
other than the Rogen! They is plumb dried up on any
morsels except of the humankind, and if they learns your
name, they is said to be able to take over and use your body
whenever they please."

Death of a Spy                     285

Largo was studying his charts again, and paying little
attention to his spy. "Do you think this bush bandit from the
Channels will be able to break through the Rogen Keep?
What is the opinion of those commanders there?"

"Why, they don't say, sir. They know ail they have to do
is keep back, and let the blood-drinkers do their work. But
there is a powerful lot in that army- I don't know if the
Rogen are that keen on squeezing their victims so many at a
time or not."

"We shall have to go there to find out. Call the others
here. I'll have a word with them."

"On the way, sir, begging pardon. I've got to relieve my
head of a nagging fear for my missus. She ain't seen hide
nor hair of me since I left three days ago to find out how
things stood for you. 1 just wants to stop in to say a quick
how is you. I won't take a moment of your time, sir."

"Go, you wretch! Send the others before you forget."

"Oh, the old gray rodent never forgets what's what, sir!
I've come unglued of my good senses from too much gourd,
but 1 never forget what's what! You can count on that, sir!"

As he bowed and scraped his way out of the shelter, he
knocked against a stack of charts that spilled out across the
floor in a jumbled mess, and as he bent to try to pick them
up. Largo placed a boot square on the bottom of the spy's
spine, and sent him sprawling through the shelter entrance.

"There weren't no use in that rough stuff, sir! I was a
picking up your precious charts. Your Mouse is hurt fatal, I
can feel it! You've cracked my ribs," he whined, rubbing the
parts mentioned.

"If that's all I've cracked, you can consider yourself
luckier than most. Now be off with you!"

The frail informer slowly got to his feet, his eyes nar-
rowed and cunning, and his walk the walk of a man who was
weighted down with such pressing problems that his poor
human frame could no longer hope to keep up the struggle.

Mouse hobbled away, grumbing oaths under his breath,
and whenever he came to the good part, where he. Mouse,
was put in charge of the punishment of Argent Largo, his
eyebrows knit into a perfect arch above his long, fine nose,

286 THE THREE KINGS

and he burst out laughing to think of the fine sight that
would be.

"I won't have no time to pay no attention to him, though,"
went on Mouse. "There's work to be done that needs doing,
and I is Just feeling as fit as a fiddler on Strawday, all keyed
up to dance a reel or two."

Here Mouse had to stop to laugh again, and the fit came
over him so powerfully that he had to remain doubled dver
for some time before he was able to go on again.

"Yes sir, there's a sweet job afoot for the sly Mouse. Oh,
he's a coney he is, all fat and plump for the taking, but Just
wait 'til you bite into it, master high and mighty! You'll
taste the death of you a little too late!"

After another long fit of laughter, the frail informer went
on about his errand, obviously pleased with himself.

Largo still stood poring over his charts, making notes
hurriedly along the sides in a small script that was nothing
more than a scrawl. Then he would debate in his mind some
further confrontation at another locale, going back to
scratch through the first notations with other additions,
until the legend of the maps were crossed and recrossed,
making odd patterns that looked as though they were fea-
tures on the map as well.

"Here!" he said aloud at last, stabbing a finger at the
chart near Rogen Keep. "It even has an ominous-sounding
name. Perfect for the snare, should any of the bushrats win
through that far."

Largo turned aside to the center of the shelter, where he
drew a large chalk circle on the floor with some difficulty,
for the white nub kept breaking. He had an easier time of it
when he drew the inner figures, ail done with a precise
coolness that would have frightened Mouse even more if he
had seen it.

"Now we call the allies," said Largo, smiting to himself.
"The smoke and the nearness of the enemy has convinced
me its time! Come to your master, Letta! Bring your sisters
with their hunger! We have much work before us, and you
shall have your fill of flesh!"

Largo stoked up a small fire in the open stove, and held a

Death of a Spy                     287

tiny part of the dried dragon track from river in the hottest
part of the flames, until the room began to darken, and a
foul stench filled the air with a black odor that reeked of
decay and rot. As the dried mud of the dragon track melted
into the flames, a low rumbling noise shook the stove, then
the building, and Largo's eyes rolled with a wild frenzy, and
drops of gleaming sweat burst out of his forehead like
molten silver running down into his eyes and stinging them
until he had to force himself to blink.

"Come, 0 snake! Your servant Largo calls! The hour is
upon us! We must strike our blow now!"

A graveled voice scratched out a reply on the air. So
harsh was its sound, it hurt Largo's ears, although he tried
to conceal his discomfort.

"You have called to me, 0 lump of rotten flesh, and here
am I, the worm of eternity and destruction! I hear your puny
request for my might! I am a worm that has eaten towns in
my time, and swallowed woods whole! There is no power
that can stay before-me! And it was I who carried your
worthless hide to the Dark One when you were nothing but a
morsel for the cold earth!"

"You can't harm me, you bag of ash! The Dark One has
given you your orders to follow me, and that's what shall be!
You have to depend on me to burn a scale from those
precious hides of you and your brothers, or you wouldn't be
able to appear at all. You need me, don't ever forget!'*

Largo's voice was full of catches, for the vile smoke made
breathing uncomfortable, but he went on.

"Here are the Rogen! You two will be my main force to
crush this enemy that has come out of the South Channels.'*

A hollow laughter erupted in the room, as the voice of the
dragon grew louder.

"You lump of human vileness, you talk of a grand scheme
which the Dark One has carefully planned and executed
over these grim times. My brothers and I are trapped here
like flies in amber until the Protector gains her ends on the
Lower Meadows again. Then we shall by Law be freed from
the treacherous plot that the vile Trianion, curse his eyes

288 THE THREE KINGS

forever, hatched upon us when he brought us to these
horrible places they call the Fields of Light!"

The voice grew lower and more dreadful.

"It is the most horrible of all here, for the sun never dims,
and there are no nights! When all a dragon's soul longs for is
a long night to wing his way over a helpless land, to pluck a
!ife here and there as he pleases, or to find some trinket to
amuse himself with while he naps."

"My heart bleeds for you," snarled Largo. "All you will
do for me is what I ask, and there shall be no holding back,
or I will see to it that you stay in the Fields of Light
forever!"

A booming roar filled the room then, and Largo's hair
began to smolder from the heat that leaped out of the stove-

"You puny mortal! How dare you address me, the Purge,
the crafty, the cruel, as an errand knave like your poor
lackey there!"

Largo turned at this to find Mouse standing in the door-
way of the shelter, hat in hand and eyes wide in fear.

"You have dealt with me for the last time, human! You
are going out of your usefulness by crossing the Protector in
her designs for the one called the Red Bear. It is not for you
to decide how this battle on the Lower Meadows shall be
fought!"

"You will do as I say!" shouted Largo, ignoring the
informer and the men who stood behind him on the shelter's
porch. "The Rogen are called, and I shall attack as planned!
Do your worst, but you won't stop me!"

Largo hurled the pitcher of water onto the fire, and a
great, searing scream of agony was heard from somewhere
just above the level of awareness of ordinary things, and a
vast, dark cloud of smoke bellowed out of the open stove like
a giant claw, reaching for Largo's throat. He turned with a
strangled cry, and bolted from the room, knocking his spy
and the men gathered there aside in his flight, finally stop-
ping in the open air outside, and flinging a hand up to
defend himself from his ghostly attacker. He had ripped off
the amulet at his neck, and threw it down at his feet, where
it burst into flames.

Death of a S/y                     289

"You devil!" shouted Largo, his voice taut with fear. "If
you don't help me with what I want, I shall fling this cursed
necklace into the river, and that filth of the waterkind will
have it forever!"

The voice of the snake blazed in anger through the smol-
dering amulet.

"The Protector has her plans for you, you spineless toad!
She is going to hear of this, and you shall pay more dearly
than you thought a poor bag of flesh and bone could pay!"

"You will do as I say!" cried Largo, picking up the
necklace, and starting toward the river with it, although the
pain of touching it seared his hand, and he fought to control
the urge to drop it-

This grim test of wills had so shaken Mouse and the
gathered commanders of the varied watches, that they cov-
ered their ears to shut out the dreadful grating iron noise of
the snake's voice,

"When the time comes for you to hear what I have to say
to you,'you shall hear it from the words of the Protector-1 go
now to tell her of this betrayal!"

With a flash of black smoke, and a noise like a clap of
thunder, the amulet glowed a dark, ugly red, then lay quiet
in Largo's hand. The informer and-the others gathered there
uncovered their ears, and took a few hesitant steps to see if
Largo was harmed.

"Is you ail right, your honor?" asked Mouse shakily.

"Of course, I'm all right, you rag heap! Get to your posts
the rest of you! We attack tonight at the Keep. We shall have
the blood-drinkers loose, even if this sniveling worm won't
help. There's nothing he can do to stop Argent Largo now! I
shall drive away and slay these bandits who would take a
fancy to my new realm!"

Largo stormed past the others, scattering them again like
leaves before a wind. The watch commanders sullenly went
to their duties as they were ordered, but the informer crept
up the porch stair behind Largo, and whispered quickly into
his ear.

"You has a gentle way about you, your honor, and I likes
that in all manner of them who is my betters. They sees

290 THE THREE KINGS

things in a clear light, and knows how the wind blows, so to
speak."

"What are you driving at, you miserable leech? Speak
out! I have important matters to attend to here! We shall be
at the Keep by midnight, and I don't think tomorrow will be
a good day to cross me in the heat of battle*"

"Why, I wasn't thinking of getting against your current,
your honor, not at all. In fact, I was remarking to myself
and to a few friends on my way back here, how much of a
cotton we took to your way of rootin' out them who is your
enemies!"

"You're getting too clever for yourself, you dullard! Get to
your point, or be gone!"

"Why, the point is, and it's a dandy sharp one, sir, that I
knows of a certain night back when, when you was all
aboggle with this same business as you was just about, and I
happened to be out and having a little ramble down by the
river to watch all them strange lights that had the river all
ablaze like daytime."

Largo's face had hardened, and his jaws clenched as the
informer went on, studying his face intently all the while.

"It was a harsh fate, sir, that the lady met! I just get the
gray shudders when I think of all that beautiful face all
melting down, and them horrible shrieks she was making
while she was running past me!"

Mouse spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, and he
spoke the words slowly and clearly into Largo's ear.

"You gets my drift, doesn't you, your honor?" he asked,
smiling a crooked smile through his uneven, brown-stained
teeth,

Largo seemed to be having difficulty with his breathing,
and his face went an ashen white. He clenched his fists until
the veins were straining through the skin of his forearms,
but he didn't speak, and closed his eyes for a moment, as
though he were trying to banish something from his
thoughts.

When he spoke again, it was the old Largo, oily and full
of good cheer toward his informer, and he escorted him into

Death of a Spy                     291

the shelter warmly, nodding and smiling his agreement to
the terms the spy had spelled out.

Mouse had reason to distrust Largo, so he kept a safe
distance between them, eyeing his master warily. "You can't
do nothing against me, sir! I has my witness! They would
know it if you was to hurt poor old Mouse!"

"Of course they would, my dear bag of bones, and I
assure you I have no intention of touching a single part of
your body! For shame to even think that!"

"Well, you knows how the land lies, your honor, A bloke
does himself a good turn, and the next thing you knows,
someone has took a twisted-up look at it, and then you gets
the dirt between folks. Not natural! Never did see no harm
m folks trying to help theirselves!"

"You are a philosophical soul, my good fellow, and I shall
remember to write that down for your gravestone!"

Largo spoke in a flat voice, low and lethal, and he raised a
hand and beckoned to the chalk circle, and pointed a hand
at the informer.

"An enemy of Trew!" barked Largo, and a dark, cold
wind blew through the room, whispering by the murderer's
cheek as it passed, like a bitter night in the dead of
December.

Mouse stumbled backward, not yet comprehending the
nature of his death, until he half squealed aloud the one
word, "Rogen." It was the last breath the spy took, for in
another instant he was picked bodily up by an invisible force
that shook him like a rag doll, and then drained him of his
life blood in the wink of an eye.

It was over in the barest part of a second, and Largo had
to steel himself to hear the lip smacking and crunching of
bones as the invisible Rogen devoured the impure son of
Trew.

After they were finished. Largo pointed to the spot on the
chart he had marked, and gave another simple command.

"We shall attack tonight, Letta! Tell your sisters to swill
to their hearts content! We shall mow down these invaders
like a field of ripe wheat!"

The cold wind blew at Largo's cheek again, and he held

292 THE THREE KINGS

his hand to the small flask he had carried since the night he
saw Letta and her sisters were afraid of the water of the
river, and prepared to ready himself for the Journey to the
Rogen Keep, and his appointment with glory.

The Kites of Auroiel

The small gaudy kites flew against the wind's eye, darting
and frolicking in the late afternoon breeze. There were
hundreds of them, all in the form or fashion of some bird or
animal, and they hung in the air tike a tattered rainbow that
had broken in thousands of pieces. Far below them, resting
on the edge of a sheer drop that ran down to the Silver, sat a
man with gray hair and beard, weather-beaten and sun-
browned, who pulled lazily at an unlit pipe he had clenched
between his teeth. In between pulling at the dead pipe, he
hummed a refrain or two from some old half-remembered
song. then went on to a snatch of another. The man had
passed quite some length of time lost in these pleasurable
pursuits, when his ears picked up an awaited signal, and he
stood up, knocking out the pipe on the heel of his hand.

"Ephinias! Come up to the roost! We bring you a tidbit for
your nest!" The speaker was a soaring hawk, gliding down
lower than the colored kites. The man nodded, and without
the smallest hesitation, repeated over a list of runes to
himself, and swept powerfully off the steep hill where he had
perched, to all the world a white-tipped hawk on a late
afternoon hunt.

"Greetings, Karlin! May your wings carry you down the
wind's backroom until you wish to cease!"

"Greetings, Ephinias! All the good days of my life are
yours to share."

The Kites of Aurosel                  293

The two magnificent birds soared away until they hung
suspended in the upper rafters of the sky, next to the bright
kites that seemed to grow in number.

"We have seen the old water clans, Ephinias. They are on
the river now, coming this way. They will see your signal
soon."

"It is well they should. The news from my nephew was
unsettling, so I traveled as quickly as I could to meet the
help that was called for. I'm glad to find I was in time."

The dark feathers of the hawk Karlin shone a muted gold
in the high ceilings of the afternoon, and he arched his wings
powerfully, and swung away toward a distant green patch of
woods that ran down close to the riverbank.

"We can wait for the boats there," he said, circling above
the clearing. "It's far enough away from the Edges for us to
talk freely. Come on! I'll race you!"

He folded his wings, and plummeted earthward at a
dazzling speed, until both speed and sound seemed to be one
with the dimming sunlight.

Ephinias followed, although more awkwardly, for he had
been away at other chores, and found himself rusty in his
flying.

As the two friends neared the river, Karlin suddenly
arched his back, and flared his body out into a graceful
brakiag motion, and quietly landed in a gnarled old elm that
drooped out from the riverbank over the water. Ephinias
settled gingerly down a moment later, winded by the unfa-
miliar effort.

"Whew," he gasped, "You've worn me out, Karlin! I knew
there was some reason that I gave up being a part of your
clutch."

The other bird chortled, ruffling his feathers and stretch-
ing into a different position on his perch in the tree.

"You do me too great an honor, Ephinias. A humble hawk
such as myself would never be able to tire so great a flyer as
you."

"I thank you for your kindness, but I must claim nothing,
for I had two such teachers that I could not have turned out
elsewise."

294 THE THREE KtNGS

"Selohan and Tenon were the first to have crossed the
Mountains of Skye. To fly at such heights gives you the
greatness. It is the same with any who go to those places
beyond the tallness of clouds."

"Selohan and Tenon," repeated Ephinias, and the two
friends sat turning their heads and lifting their wings for a
few moments in tribute to the heroes from the past.

"I think you spoke to me of news," said Ephinias at
length, changing his stand from one foot to the other. Even
in this unfamiliar body, the old wound to his left knee still
troubled him when he stayed on it too long.

"News, my friend, news of a sort that will take the pin-
feathers right off you!"

"What could be so pressing bad as that?"

"I've been keeping my coopage in Trew these past sea-
sons, and I've seen all that has come and gone there. I've
watched a new leader arise there as frightening as old Trew
himself."

"You knew the Lord Trew?" asked Ephinias, trying to
remember how long a lifespan the great birds had.

"He was one of the most unsettling fellows a human could
be. He kept a hawkery, and I have cousins who flew for him,
but they were a dowdy lot, and never spoke of anything
without running it to the ground. Always out on a hunt, or in
the process of mending. They never were stable birds that
could get down to what was needed and do it."

"So you've been in Trew all this past season," urged
Ephinias, trying to coax the bird on to his point without
breaking good roost manners.

"Yes, yes, I was coming to that," went on Karlin testily.
"I get confused sometimes in my way of keeping accounts
with things that have gone on. Some seasons I think are
made of the stuff we find in snowflakes! They just seem to
dazzle your eye with how beautiful they are, but the minute
you think you have it marked for memory, it's gone, and you
never are quite sure you saw it exactly that way or not.
Seasons are the same with me anymore. I've watched a lot
of young stout wings take to the sky's stairway, but I've

The Kites of Auroiel                  295

watched as many perish before they've reached an age of
maturity."

"It's that way with all kinds, my friend,** said Ephinias
softly. "It seems to be the way of things."

"Yet you still feel it," replied the hawk. "1 feel it terriby
when I think of who I was hunting with even last season,
down along the Lower Tybo. Good stock, and fast flyers, yet
they are all gone, I hear, lost to this horde of outcasts who
have come from beyond good sense to plague us all again,
like it was in the days when we shared the air with the
scaled snakes who flew. That was danger for you! I never
dreamed of anything so horrible as that, and it took me a
good many turnings not to bend my neck out of joint
watching out for signs of them everytime I was up."

"1 didn't think you were so old as all that, Karlin! I would
never have taken you for one so advanced in turnings!"

The handsome bird ruffled his feathers and preened the
skirts on the tips of his wings.

"You never spend enough time with us to find out the full
history of our order. We are one of the oldest nights, and we
go all the way back to the coming of the wind, and the
beginning of trees and water."

"I know your order is old, Karlin! I meant you! You Just
spoke of the Purge in a way that led me to think you had
actually seen one!"

The hawk turned his even gaze on Ephinias.

"I think I have! Or what was something very like it. Of
course I was not flying when the winged snakes were abroad!
That was long before my egg was dropped. But I spent time
here in Trew, as I said, and I have been about up and down
its breadth and width, and there is trouble brewing there
that is right out of the old days."

"How do you mean? Have you seen something I should
tell Gillerman and the others of?"

"I should hope they already know. If they don't, it may be
too late to turn the tide that's running."

"How so? Are there so many enemies afoot?"

"Many times many, and they have a firebrand for a
leader. I know he is come from the old days. Sometimes we

296 THE THREE KINGS

see things that others don't, and 1 see the brand of the
dragon on this one. I saw him call up a spell that set my
heart drumming like it hasn't since my mater tossed me out
of the aeyrie for the first time."

"This man called up a spell that smacked of the snake?"
asked Ephinias anxiously. "Does he have a name?"

"He is called Argent Largo. I found that out by careful
listening in a tree in his camp. He is highly rated with
himself, so I had no trouble hearing his name, nor that he
has a sister that he hates."

"A sister? Why on earth would he hate his sister?"

"He's human, and there's no knowing the end of the
mysteries about humans- No offense, Ephinias. You know I
don't refer to you."

"None taken. What was her name? Did he say?"

"Never. He also killed a woman of Trew with his spell of
the snake. It caught her with its fire tongue, and devoured
her."

"I have to tell this to Gillerman. It all sounds too grim to
believe, but I trust your eyes, my friend. They see beyond
the dimness of the night, and through the brightest day. I
have to reach Gillerman, that's all there is to it!"

"Your kites will draw him."

"Perhaps. They will draw all who are in these parts to
come see what the news is. It may draw some unwanted
guests as well."

"I think they are coming already," answered Karlin.
"Look!"

In the distance, a thin plume of dust was slowly raised,
and coming in the direction of the kites of Ephinias. It
seemed to be a large party of riders, perhaps a hundred or
more, and they were coming fast at a brisk gallop.

"What do you make of them?" asked the man.

The hawk's hard, unblinking eyes studied the horsemen
for a moment, then turned to reply.

"They are no friends to you or me! I see some there who
have flown hawks before, but they are cruel and have no
heart for true flying. I think they are in the service of the one
I told you of."

The Kites of Auroiel                   297

"Argent Largo?"

"That is the name. I think he is come from an older time.
When he called up the spell of the snake, I was amazed that
there were any left who remembered any of that horror."

"It was well you should be, my friend. It was not supposed
to be, after a period of time called the Middle Islands. There
was supposed to be an end to all this then."

"There is a bowman with the riders there who carries a
crossbow that covers his back! We had best find our wings
and move to safer ground."

The graceful wings of the hawk lifted and swept him
away up a golden sunbeam that broke through the branches
of the tree. Ephinias quickly followed, but not soon enough
to escape notice from the rapidly approaching horsemen.
Horns blared, and a great hubbub broke out among the
riders. Ephinias, puffing and blowing mightily, as he strug-
gled to reach the upper altitudes with Karlin, looked around
and down in time to see one of the mounted men release a
great falcon, all steel gray in color, with a dark russet head.

"Come up! Come up, quickly!" warned Karlin. "It's a
Skye falcon! They kill for pleasure!"

"I can't climb any faster," huffed Ephinias. "I'm not used
to this."

Karlin hung suspended for a brief moment, then seemed
to fold into a lightning bolt of speed and power.

His battle cry followed his plummeting form as he flashed
past. Ephinias only saw a fleck of color against the blue sky,
and then a great explosion of feathers and a stricken death
rattle jarred the afternoon with its chilling finality.

As the feathers slowly settled in spiraling motions toward
the ground, Ephinias watched as Karlin surged back toward
him, in desperate flight after having slain the great falcon
from Skye.

"Watch out!" warned Ephinias. "They're shooting at
you!"

The horseman with the huge crossbow had fired a bolt at
Karlin, barely missing the bird's wide wingspan as he
clawed the air to gain altitude, and to fly out of range.

Another bolt, then another, arched upward in slow

298 THE THREE KINGS

motion, seeking out Ephinias's savior- Karlin seemed to be
stuck in molasses, for he could not get beyond the range of
the powerful crossbows.

"The kites!" cried Ephinias suddenly. "We'll hide in the
kites!"

Karlin heard, and veered to his left abruptly, gaining
speed as he went, diving back down toward his attackers,
but with a velocity they could not measure with their cross-
bows. Only another few yards, and he would be safely
among the thousands of colored kites, and away from any
clean shot the bowmen could make.

Ephinias was there before him, and swooped on ahead in
ungraceful movements, although at the moment the hawk
was not of a mind to berate his friend about his sloppy
flying.

They went on, weaving and darting among the paper
throng, and although they heard the occasional hiss of an
arrow slicing by, they knew they were safe among the
endless lines of tethered kites, for the horsemen would find
their way blocked until they undid the strings of all the lofty
kites, and that would be a task that would take them the
better part of a day.

"Your kites have saved us," shouted Karlin, beginning to
slow his pace.

"The Auroiel have come in handy on more than one
occasion, I can tell you," replied Ephinias, curving away
slowly to his right to better observe what had happened to
their attackers. "They stood us in good stead at the Middle
Islands, just when the Purge had tried to find where a
certain band of elfin cavalry was quartered. There is some-
thing disquieting about all these fellows, if you don't know
what to make of their meaning."

"I'm glad you had the time to set them out here," said
Karlin.

"Oh, they set themselves out," replied his friend. "I'd
never have time to do it all myself. They seem to have a real
flair for getting themselves up and hanging just right. I
learned the trick from a fellow who said he was able to do it
with tables and chairs, but that never took my fancy."

The Kites of Aurviel

299

"You are a strange one, Ephinias. All the rest of my flight
have warned me against having dealings with any so shifty
and treacherous as humans, but how could I doubt a man
who is able to take on the form of a brother, and who knows
the secret color of the wind's eye?"

"I'm not so strange as you, Karlin. You've been who you
are this time without a single dart to the left or right! That
counts for a lot in the scheme of things. You have been up
here at your work for all this time without a single grumble.
There is no like story among the lot I've been with before I
crossed your trail again."

"They've interrupted my report to you, my friend, but at
least you've seen what we're up against here. These men
with the Skye hawks were not from a settlement true to the
one deep meaning of where we all fit into the nature of the
Law. I think I shall have to find a way to change my shape,
so I can walk around at human affairs like you, Ephinias, for
then I could get close enough to do some damage."

"I'm not so sure you'd like to do that, Karlin. I could
teach you everything you'd need to transform yourself, but I
think you'd find it as boring as anything you'd ever done.
Hawks are born hawks, not man. It would only make you
sad!"

The two birds were still amidst the throng of the kites,
and turned and glided safely now.

"Sad or not, sometimes it would be a relief to be able to
do as you do, Ephinias."

"You wouldn't say that if you knew how taxed my time is.
Even as we're here now, I feel the pull of someone who needs
me, too. Speak! Tell me your feelings and what has occurred
that you needed to tell me of?"

Karlin pondered heavily before me made his reply. "So
this is how you speak to your old friend? Not even so much
as sharing a morsel or two, with some of the fine talk that
brings in the group after a long hunt?"

"There's no time to stand on ceremony, Karlin. These
brigands were here looking for any signs of someone coming
from the hills to free their slaves from the bondage of the

500 THE THREE KINGS

tyrant who has taken hold here. These outcasts have spread
like a disease spreads over a body."

"Is that someone coming on the river?" asked the bird.

"Yes, according to the signs. If this Largo is among them,
there is still unfinished business that shall have to be worked
out between the two of them. It is an old business, and has
its roots deep in the old days. My little kite trick is nothing
compared to what this Largo has been about, if you say he
has touched the fire and brought forth a dragon-spell. Any-
one who dabbles with those is too far gone to lock horns with
until you've got a rock-steady plan, and you know what
you're about."

"Do the people on the river know what it's all about?"
asked Karlin.

"The waterfolk, Karlin? They know all there is to know,
and now I have to know al! it is you know from your time
here."

"Then this is the way I have found it," replied the hawk.
"I will forgo the rituals this once, since it is you and I, and
we understand each other well, Ephinias. It seems a shame
to let any of the old ways go, in these times. There is always
an absence there when you do."

"We'll make up for it, master hunter of the deadly eye.
We shall find time to carry out all the old rituals to our
hearts content, once we have met this new challenge."

Karlin paused, gathering his thoughts, then began, start-
ing from the beginning, when he had first hunted inside the
borders of Trew, and when he had first discovered Argent
Largo.

After a time, Ephinias nodded, and drew up his wings,
allowing himself to fall from the heights he and Karlin had
been flying, and plunged down toward the river far below, a
silver ribbon that wound through the heavy wooded foot-
hills, and reflected back the dying rays of the late afternoon
sun.

"I will go now, Karlin! May your wings keep you on the
fairest wind from the west! You have been a blessing beyond
telling. Farewell!"

The hawk cried his farewells, and watched as his friend

The Kites of Auroiel                   301

disappeared from view, a tiny speck of dark wings against
the blue of the sky, and finally into the greenery of the forest
below.

Ephinias landed roughly, for he was older and stiffer than
he had been when he first learned the ways of the wind-
riders, and after carefully scrutinizing his surroundings, he
repeated the runes that would allow him to return to his trms
form. He shook himself, dusting his cloak as he did so,
trying to get the feel of walking again,

"I hate all this business," he mumbled to himself. "Just
when you get the hang of how to do something, you're called
away to something else. It's no wonder everything is in the
muddle it's in, what with all this hopping and jumping about
from one thing to another."

He shook his head angrily. "My garden is wasting away
for want of me, and I shan't be back to it until goodness
knows when!" He paused, shaking his head again. "And the
peonies were going to be lovely, too!"

His flowers were forgotten, however, at the smallest hint
of sound that announced he was not alone in the wood.

A slight breeze blew through the dim wood, bringing with
it a soft scent of rotten leaves, and shaded glades that never
saw the full light of the sun. Ephimas slowly eased his way
into a position to examine his surroundings fully, and was
ready to protect himself in whatever manner he deemed
necessary. The mounted horsemen with the long crossbows
were heavy on his mind, and he had forged a plan of action
for that event, should it come to pass, when he heard the
first of the vaguely familiar signals.

"Children of Lemuria, welcome," he said aloud, though
not too loudly, for he still had visions of the horsemen with
their ugly weapons.

The sounds grew louder, and a fresh smell of the sea was
everywhere, along with the tangy crispness of snow on a
high peak, frosty and squeaking.

"You may play out my secrets on your silence, but I have
no desire to harm you! I am Ephinias, the Second Son! I am
an amuser of sorts, and a ne'er-do-well of habit, and a

302 THE THREE KINGS

frankly spoken man who lives for the day when someone will
find it in their hearts to argue with me!"

"Then we are well met, citizen," came a clear voice,
edged with humor. "I have come from a country where it is
said that he who can't count his wits with a two-parted
cudgel is indeed a dull dog that needs a fair dose of the
restorative mentioned."

A small, round figure, somewhat less than the height of a
man, yet larger than a dwarf, stepped out of what appeared
to be the dead stump of an old oak. He was dressed in the
fashion of an older time, although what time Ephinias could
not have said, and he carried a great broadax that he now
leaned upon to study his new acquaintance.

"You don't seem to be one of that lot I've been hiding
from these past days. Are you an outcast as well, stranger?"

"My name is Ephinias. I thought at first I had run across
some of the clans that are of an older line."

"You're speaking to a soul of the older clans, citizen, even
though you couldn't be expected to know it. I am Third
Faronet of the Realms of the Misty Sea- You may call me
Aron."

"Forgive me, Aron, but I meant no affront. What I
thought I saw was one of the small dreamers who used to
roam these lands, and all the lands around."

"They are the very ones I have come seeking!" exclaimed
Aron, his features growing animated. "I have been abroad
all these past years in search of the seven clans, for only
their aid will rid our realms of the curse that has overtaken
us."

"What curse is that, my friend? Do you have outcasts and
border wars where you have come from?"

"Worse," confessed Aron. "Since the sea has retaken all
the land that used to make up a large portion of our
livelihoods, we have found a way to tend to our growing
communities by reaping our food from underwater farms.
There was nothing new in this, for our distant cousins had
carried out these operations, and many more, in times of
need. What has changed all this are the ones who steal the

The Kites of Auroiel                  303

food we grow, and who turn brother against brother in the
off-shot."

"Why do you seek the dreamers, friend? Could not any
army help you drive the lawless ones away?"

"Not anyone could help us, because it is a band of the
dreamers themselves! I couldn't believe it either, because I
have been bread-and-buttered in the myths of the Evening
Clans, who dwelled behind the stars, and who held the gates
of dawn open for an endless time, before they began to
disappear. 1 guess there is nothing that says anywhere that
you have to feel what you are feeling all the time,"

"I can't believe it of the elfin clans! Surely you must be
mistaken?"

"There is no mistake to it, citizen! I've come along here to
try to recruit a true band of the silent ones into service for
me. They will be obliged to go, once I get it through their
crafty minds that when it involves their kinsmen, they are
bound by law to help."

Ephinias shook his head, his eyes hidden. "It is a sad day
indeed when the legends die. I am almost sorry to have lived
so long."

"Cheer, citizen! I overcame all my lost ideals. I've even
come to love the world as it is, for what it's worth. We must
never be daunted," said Aron, puffing out his chest as he
spoke.

Before Ephinias could reply, another sound reached their
ears, and a faint outcry was heard, although muffled, as if it
came from a great distance away.

"It sounds as though a battle is joined," said Aron,
turning all about to try to locate the source of the sound.

"A battle, most assuredly," agreed Ephinias. "I can't
seem to find what point of the compass it's coming from."

"I think it's coming from down here," said Aron, looking
at the ground beneath his feet, and tapping the butt of his
broadax solidly in the dirt.

Ephinias looked at the small stranger in surprise, then got
on his hands and knees to put an ear to the ground.

"I do believe you're right," he said after a time. "There is
certainly a ruckus down there now."

304 THE THREE KINGS

Aron joined him on the ground, and the two listened
intently for another moment, then rose.

"Do you know anything of these parts, Aron? Is there
anywhere we could find a way into this underground
settlement?"

"These are the Darien Mounds' I don't think you'd want
to find a way into them."

"I've heard a name called aloud! I must find a 'way
down!"

"There are openings to some of the old mounds not far
from here. If you're determined, we could try to find out if
they go underground."

"Lead on, good Aron! We may yet not be too late! Lead
on!"

"Do you know anything about the kites?" asked his new
friend, looking up in awe at the colored sky that was strewn
with the bright kites.

"They are the wind's army," answered Ephinias.
"They've come to help us. But we must hurry."

Aron tried to question him further, but the strange man
with the piercing blue eyes led him on at a hot pace toward
the ruins of the old mounds. He would say nothing further
about the meaning of the wind's army, and muttered some-
thing under his breath that sounded to Aron like the word
"minstrel."

He tried to ask Ephinias if he meant the sort of minstrel
who played and sang, and did amusements, but the reply he
got was curt and short.

"This fellow isn't so much on amusements as he is rather
prone to be up to his harp-strings in hot water. If this is my
man, it sounds as if he is still up to his old tricks."

There was no further time to speculate on the meaning of
his words, for the two had found the overgrown opening of
an old shaft. It was cluttered with the debris of an ancient
disaster—there were scattered pieces of broken furnishings
of an odd sort, built for beings of a very small stature, and
cast-off weapons, and in a sudden grisly discovery, skeletons
that were no bigger than a small human child of ten or so.

Aron held back, hesitant to go any further, but Ephinias

The Red Bear                    305

picked up a small rusted sword that had at one time been
encrusted with gems of some sort, and pressed on into the
open dark tunnel that smelled of a vast undisturbed tomb.

The Red Bear

The braying of the war horns was deafening, and the clash
of steel against steel crushed the soft velvet of the night in
an iron glove; watchfires became funeral pyres, and the
terrible roar of thousands of men joined in mortal combat
drowned the senses. Mounted men raced back and forth in
the battle camp, trying to rally the troops, and to find out
what had happened, and who was attacking. The banner of
the Red Bear floated still in front of Bern's shelter, although
he had leaped from it earlier, changed into his old form, and
brandishing a long, wicked-looking sword, with an iron
pommel and a blade that glowed a dull green, and struck
green sparks whenever he engaged in combat with anyone.

"Morghen! Arnault! To me!" he bellowed, standing upon
the carcass of a dead horse. "To me, followers of the Red
Bear!"

All about him, to his left and right, his troops were
engaged in a deadly struggle, which angered Bern until his
eyes burned in his head. This was the fault of the imposter
in Trew, and he would make him pay dearly for his resis-
tance. Bern cursed loudly and ordered no mercy shown to
any enemy of the Red Bear. "Off with their ears, lads! Take
their hearts!"

He blew a loud, wailing call on his war horn, then whirled
to find himself engaged with two stewards of the Line, and
only after he had slain them, did he realize they had been
part of his deserters' army.

306 THE THREE KINGS

"Curse the fools for continuing to wear their blasted
colors," he cried, looking about in confusion. There were
others in stewards' uniforms in knots of twos and threes here
and there, fighting with both his troops, and among them-
selves. A slow idea crawled through Bern's fevered mind,
which caused him to lash out angrily with the lethal black
sword.

"They've been a sly lot, those stewards," he shouted.
"Come, lads, come to it! Slay anything dressed as a steward!
They are in among us now! Death to all stewards."

Bern's voice was hoarse from shouting and he worked his
way through the struggling throng to where he could get an
overview of the field of battle.

There before him floated the hated standard of the Line,
and he gnashed his teeth in rage, whirling about in a frenzy
that lopped off the heads of two unfortunate soldiers who
happened to be standing too near their leader.

"To the Red Bear!" growled Bern. "All come to the Red
Bear! We will drive these treacherous cowards into the river
and drown them like the rats they are!"

Bern blew another frantic call on his war horn, and it was
answered in a dozen echoes, from all directions.

A fire had started in a more distant part of the camp,
torching a clump of trees nearby, and now the surrounding
wood was in danger of becoming an inferno. Out of one of
these pockets of smoke, a band of the elfin host appeared,
mithra armor glowing an ugly dull red from the fire. The
leader of this small party saw Bern and held out a gleaming
elfin blade that crackled with a golden white light that
shown in the elf's eyes.

"You waterfilth," shouted Bern, and leaped to attack,
cleaving the air before him with dreadful strokes of the
black sword.

'The dreamers!" cried the elf, and parried the blow
easily, sidestepping Bern's vicious attack.

A second elf entered the fray, driving Bern back toward
his shelter.

The small warriors were experts with all their weaponry,
and Bern could get no advantage, fairly or otherwise. He

The Red Bear                    307

had a burning desire to get away from the small soldiers
with the unsettling grim eyes.

"Morghen! To me!" cried Bern again, and this time a
dozen or more of his army were all about him, and set on the
elves in a frontal rush. More horns blew, and the air was
filled with long-shafted arrows, all of the green feathers of
the elfin host, and as the company shielded themselves from
the barbed onslaught from the sky, the two surrounded elves
disengaged and withdrew to the safety of the smoke and
darkness.

Morghen and Arnault appeared at Bern's side, although
both were careful not to startle him, and stood at a respecta-
ble distance.

"You've taken your own good time in answering my call,"
growled Bern.

"There is deviltry afoot!" shot Morghen. "We're attacked
on both sides of the river!"

Bern whirled, and turned his full displeasure on his
lieutenant.

"You were to have seen to the other side! It was planned
to not have to deal with those imbeciles! What happened?"

"This is always the way of it," muttered Arnault, coming
to his friend's defense. "They'll be cooperative as you could
want when the talk is around the campfire, and there's no
steel drawn. It's another matter when you get down to
looking at it over crossed blades."

"You told me the matter was settled, and that you had the
guard of Trew aligned with our cause!"

Morghen smiled weakly at his leader,

"You know that dealing with anyone who comes from
Trew is only courting disaster. I warned you of just this very
thing!"

"But you said it would be seen to, confound your oily
tongue! You push me to my limits, Morghen! I am reaching
my tolerance of the lies and deceits! I've had all I can
stomach!"

"There is another way into Trew," interrupted Arnault.
"It may be the way we have looked for after all this. While
the big set-to is going on out of doors here, we could be in

308 THE THREE KINGS

the old digs below, and win straight through to the heart of
Trew. They might not be so keen on continuing to resist us if
we had their beloved throne hall in our hands."

Bern's eyes burned a deeper red, and a snarling smile
spread his lips back over his teeth.

"That plan might suit us well, Arnault. I'm glad to see
there is one from the Channels who uses his brain for
something else besides roguery. Do you have any of'the
underground ways marked? Are they big enough to support
a large party traveling through them?"

"The scouts brought detailed reports back from their
survey here. They have seen bands of small dweners going
and coming through certain mounds that are marked above
ground, and plainly open for any who might chance along on
them."

Morghen started to speak, but caught the look of
Arnault's eye, and remained silent.

"Show me!" ordered Bern.

"Round up an assault squadron," added Morghen. "We
shall see to it that nothing is left undone across the river!"

The two Channeliers looked at each other over Bern's
head, who had lowered himself to study the features of a
fallen deserter of the Line.

"Isn't this that fellow that you brought to me?" he asked,
kicking the dented helmet away so he could better see the
face.

"It looks like it," said Morghen. "I guess the fellow was
telling the truth about wanting to join us."

Morghen laughed harshly.

"Now he's got his just desserts."

"Traitor's wages," snarled Bern. "Remember his face
well, Morghen! It's a wise thing to never raise a slumbering
bear!"

Morghen bowed low to signal his acknowledgment, and to
conceal the sneer of fear and loathing he could not hide
otherwise.

The plan Arnault had so deftly introduced had not
aroused Bern's suspicions, and it went forward unchal-
lenged, which amazed and delighted Morghen. There were

The Red Bear                   309

risks involved, but there was also the off-chance that one of
the underground shafts might house one of the Lord Trew's
mystic Wells, and if that were the case, then the long wait
would be over, and the tolerating of the violent, demented
bear lord would be at an end. They could fall on him by
force and slay him below ground' None of the others of the
vast army need know of his murder, and then Morghen and
Arnault could control that huge army to do their own will,
and it would be a thing of the past to have to grovel before
the old elders who had thwarted their plans for so many
turnings.

The battle about them had increased in fury, and the two
men hurried away to gather their handpicked squadron to
make the assault underground, leaving Bern to direct his
army as he would, from whatever vantage point he could.
He ranged back and forth, finally ending up by the water's
edge, where a company of elves had engaged one of his most
elite troops.

"Carry it to them!" he admonished, sensing that the elves
were getting the better of the lagging humans, and he waded
into the river to strike a blow to encourage his followers.

The appearance of Bern in his bear form seemed to drive
the men into a frenzy, which pleased him, and he shouted
aloud his approval as he saw the elfin line falter and begin to
fall back.

"On to Trew! Spare no one! Take no quarter and give
none!"

Bern had waded out into the shallows of the water, which
was full of bodies from both sides of the conflict, and
motioned his followers forward, the battle fever burning
brightly in his red eyes.

On the other side of the river, which marked the bounda-
ries of Trew, he saw an odd combat ensue, which eluded his
understanding, and shook him somewhat, but he thought
perhaps it was the smoke from the fires that had been
started that made the scene appear so grotesque. All about
him, the woods were afire, and the terrible flames seemed to
leap from tree to tree, devouring all in its path. Even though
the forest floor was damp and cool, the army of the Red

310 THE THREE KINGS

Bear had weapons of war that used skins wrapped on projec-
tiles that carried hot oil that would blaze up and spread like
a lake of fire over anything it touched. The Channelier army
had dragged horse-drawn launchers of these long flaming
darts, along with a vast array of other weapons that would
enable them to lay siege to even the most fortified
settlements.

The flames leaped higher, and Bern saw many corpses of
soldiers who had been burned by the flaming oil, and then
there was another confused scene on the riverbank directly
opposite him. Through the knots of struggling combatants
there blew a violent wind, raising them off the ground and
shaking them about, and then they simply vanished, leaving
nothing behind but their clothing and armor and weapons.

An uneasy fear stole over Bern, and he retreated from the
river back to safer ground, calling out for the troops to
advance, and pointing the way to victory. He went on a
rampage for the benefit of a new lot of replacements that
had come up, and directed them straight into the maelstrom
that went on across the river, so that he might better
understand the nature of the enemies' defense.

Before he was able to find out anything further, Morghen
and Arnault returned with their handpicked squadron.

"We're ready to launch our strike," reported his lieuten-
ant. "We have a force big enough here to contain anything
we might find in the underground. The scouts have only seen
the small ones there, and they will be no match for us."

"Get on with it then!" growled Bern. "We need to end this
as quickly as possible. I know the stewards are behind this,
but I don't know who else is- Trew was not supposed to be
this well defended."

Bern looked menacingly at Morghen, but his underling
simply shook his head. "There was no hint that this would
be so," he agreed.

"I hope we're not in for more surprises," snapped Bern
peevishly. "These upsets make me forget my compassion! If
I get too far gone, you had best not be near me, my good
Morghen! I have a feeling somewhere inside me that we are
"devilish close to settling our differences."

The Red Bear                   311

Bern's voice was cold and hard, and he held the great
black sword in such a way that it accidentally touched
against Morghen's leg, sending an electrical shock through
the man, which caused him to gasp aloud for air.

"I hope this plan of yours works, my good lieutenant, and
that you and Arnault haven't had some other notion in mind
about luring me down into some dark hole and murdering
me!"

"This plan can't fail," blustered Arnault, in a voice that
seemed much too loud, and he tried to cover his discomfort
by making it seem that he had to shout so as to have his
voice carry over the sound of the ongoing battle.

"It had best not," returned Bern, looking to his two
subalterns, and the men they had brought along on the
raiding party.

There were faces there that he recognized, and some that
he knew were true to Morghen. To add to his own sense of
well-being, Bern called forth another handful of faithful
warriors who had proven their loyalty to him, and whom he
knew he could trust.

"Now we shall set at this work," he said, satisfied at last
with his arrangements. He sent messengers to all the watch
commanders to rendezvous at dawn at Rogen Keep, and to
take no prisoners. When the last of the messengers was on
his way, Bern called the attack group together and outlined
the plan that Morghen and Arnault had proposed. He broke
the party into five elements, each with a specific mission to
accomplish, and with what details he could gain from his
charts of Trew, he set out the main goals they would hope to
achieve with this daring underground strike.

"There is just one question, commander," said a surly,
heavily bearded man who was a full head higher than Bern
in his human form, and who outweighed him by a hundred
pounds.

"What is it?" growled Bern.

"There is stories about blood-drinkers in these holes
you're talking about traveling through! What is we going to
do about them^'

312 THE THREE KINGS

Bern's eyes were on fire, and he glared at the man a
moment before replying.

"Don't let them drink your blood! That's why you're
armed!"

The other men laughed uneasily.

"That's the way of it, Rundle! If you don't want to end up
drunk out, then don't let no such creature as them blood-
suckers get sidled up to you!"

"There is truth to the rumor," said Morghen, in a voice
only Bern could hear. "But if we can capture the throne
room in Trew, then we can call them off, or turn them on
whoever we want."

"It is a risk," agreed Arnault. "We have weighed that
carefully, and find it worth our taking."

"I'm gtad you've decided so firmly among yourselves,"
glowered Bern. "1 am happy to have subalterns who seem to
have the capacity to make decisions on their own."

"Never without consulting you," went on Arnault hur-
riedly, "We only discovered the possibility of going through
the old Darien digs a short while ago."

"I hope that's true," said Bern cryptically. "If there is any
little hint of treason in the plan, then the shafts of the
Dariens will be your resting place."

There was another flareup of frantic activity then, and a
fast-moving skirmish line of cavalry from the Line smashed
through the camp, scattering all the defenders before their
unrelenting attack. A larger force of the army of Bern tried
to thrust the stewards back, but were repulsed, and hatfto
fall back to regroup again. Another volley of the green-
shafted arrows dropped in then, and a new wave of the elfin
warriors rolled over the enemy camp, and thrust right up to
the river, where Bern and his party stood braced to defend
themselves-

Bern saw a Line Steward in the forefront of the struggle,
and he called to his archers to fell the man, who rode his
horse among the fighting mobs, hacking and slashing as he
went, leaving cloven heads and lifeless bodies behind him.

The man was Stearborn, armored in the mithra mail of
the elves, and carrying one of the elfin swords that had been

The Red Bear

313

forged in the far mountains of Skye, at the beginning of the
long history of the dreamers, when they yet remembered
how it was to go back to the Silent Halls without the sadness
of having to leave once more. A horn touched his lips, and he
blew out the pure, high call that had rallied the stewards of
the Line for as long as there had been a place called the
Line. At his side was Erases, the elf, shining in mithra
armor, and looking as grim and fell as death itself. Behind
the two rode the elfin squadron that had been at the most
crucial battle in the campaign for the Middle Islands, all
seasoned warriors who knew their craft well.

Stearborn saw they had split the enemy camp into a
dozen or more separate groups, which was the goal he and
Chellin Duchin had agreed upon. As Chellin attacked from
the south, Stearborn and Erases had come down from the
north in a pincer movement that squeezed the huge enemy
force into an accordionlike collapse upon itself, and in the
confusion of the sudden ambush, and the late hour, and the
darkness, the much smaller forces of the stewards had
driven a wedge into the army of Bern the Red in three
places, cutting in three the superior manpower, and setting
many of the enemy troops to fighting among themselves-

Chellin and Stearborn had seen the massacre at the edge
of the river on the Trew side of the water, and knew what
dread news that meant, for the terrible stories of the Rogen
were well known to all who had ever heard of the strange
guardians of Trew.

"The whelp has sprung his own death-vise, I think," said
Stearborn, turning to Erases before they had begun their
attack. "Keep your elves this side of the water! We shall
have to find out more of how to deal with that lot!"

"The Rogen can't kill an elf, old friend. They can rob us
of our seventh sense, but then that is worse than death to a
dreamer! But we have as yet no cause to worry of them. The
Lady Elina is on her way with Famhart and his squadron.
We shall have news then of how to deal with this old threat
from the misguided Lord Trew."

**I, for one, will welcome Famhart and the stewards. And
I don't think it will hurt so much having another elfin

314 THE THREE KINGS

squadron to lend us a band at this sticky business here on
the Silver. It's bad enough finding the fellow who calls
himself the Red Bear, but to come on Linne's brother and
the Rogen is a horse of another color. The Line Stewards
were not trained to deal with enemies that have no form."

"The Rogen have form," explained the elf. "You must
understand the nature of these other beings. They are not so
formless, or horrible. If you carry their image in your mind
you will be able to avoid them. They cannot slay any who
are connected with the Lord Trew, so the elves are immune,
except for that foul deed that I spoke of."

"What is this sense they can rob you of. Erases? You said
*the seventh sense?'"

"It is the ability to see the Last Gate, Stearbom. The one
gate that must be reached before an elf can return to his
own without the promise of a return. If that vision is taken
away, my kind can never find our way back, unless another
of our kinsmen come to seek us."

"So the cycle is repeated? Always one or another forced
to return to fetch the other?"

"Exactly. Some of our other enemies have found out this
trick, and have kept us struggling down here in the Lower
Shandin far longer than we would have liked. The Dark One
has worked her ways in trying to split and isolate the
dreamers, for we pose a grave threat to her plans here. I
know she is at work to get the Fields of Light opened so the
Purge can once more return to their old haunts, but she has
too many elfin hosts to contend with before she can accom-
plish that goal. If we are involved with the rescue of kins-
men, we won't be able to turn our full weight to the problem
of dealing with her, and she knows it."

Stearbom laughed to himself in the middle of a sword-
stroke as he watched Erases and his elves overrun a large
contingent of enemy troops, and send them fleeing for their
lives.

"The dreamers!" echoed the elfin battle cry, and a horn
and pipe took up the call, rising on the dark night air with
an urgency that rang like doom on the ears of those who
fought on the side of the Red Bear.

The Red Bear

315

Stearbom wheeled his own squadron around, and set
himself to sweep back down the riverbank, when he saw the
lights on the water, and heard the glad hurrahs of some of
the elfin warriors who rode with Erases.

"The Lady Elina! Famhart!" they cried, chanting
together in a voice that rang out as one.

The lights flared and burst into a white halo that hung
over the first of the elfin battle skiffs to arrive at the shore,
and in the course of a short breath, the skiffs grew in size
until they covered the river entirely, and grew larger still,
until they were large enough for a gangway to be laid over
the bow of the craft, and a horse and rider came down
together, both dressed in battle armor that was from
another time and place.

It was Famhart, wearing his old colors, that he had worn
before he had become an elder of the Line, and he was
followed by his young squadron, all dressed in the same
manner.

Stearbom dismounted to embrace his friend.

"It is well met this night, Famhart! We have our work cut
now! The Red Bear is at his worst against us, and the Rogen
are afoot across the Silver! Trew is held captive by that lout
of a brother of Linne's, and we. now have enough clout
between all the squadrons to do some good here!"

"Good Stearbom! Always the brick. Well met, indeed.
The Lady Elina has brought enough of her fusiliers with her
to see to it that we won't be worried too much by the
backway tonight. Perhaps I can convince Largo to help undo
the harm he has caused his sister!"

"He will, or we'll have an answer to what he can do with
what's left of his head!"

The Lady Elina came ashore next, mounted on a startling
white steed with pale blue eyes- All the elves knelt on one
knee as she came among their ranks, and men of the squad-
rons of the Line felt the ache of a beauty that was too much
to look full upon without weeping.

There was the other elfin squadron next, and the battle
lines were drawn and pickets put out to probe at the strength
of the enemy troops all about them.

316 THE THREE KINGS

A lull had fallen over the battlefield when the elfin skiffs
had landed, but the pace picked up again. Soon the night
was shattered with a terrible wind, tearing at the senses with
the howl of death and destruction, and the cries and moans
of the dying and maimed.

Ephinias heard all these sounds in the distance, as he and
Aron took the first careful steps into the dark tunnels at the
ruins of the ancient mounds of Darien.

The Wells of Trona

Even more frightening than the all-out assault by the
Mounders, and more disturbing than the unmoving Owen
and Kegin, was the total silence that now fell over the
chamber where Emerald held the trembling girl who had
gone by the name of Darek. The blue light in the cool stone
ebbed to a darker blue, and paled somewhat, but the noise
and chaos from outside the archway had fallen away until
nothing was to be heard but their own breathing, coming in
rapid gasps.

The minstrel sprang to his feet, and brandishing the
sword from the forges of Skye before him, leaped to the
entryway into the high-vaulted hall.

There were no voices from beyond, and the shaft was so
dark Emerald could hardly make out the dim outlines of
anything but the walls and furnishings. There was no one in
sight, and no noise to be heard, except for a sound of water
softly splashing against stone.

The sword still glowed a faint golden white, and Emerald
crept slowly forward, ready for any sudden onslaught, but
none came, and there was a faraway sound that reached his
ear then, of something that was vaguely familiar.

The Wells of Trona                  317

A voice behind him almost caused him to jump out of his
skin.

"Don't leave me behind. Emerald! I'm frightened!"

It was Darek, with a long braid of dark hair undone and
hanging free from beneath the cap that had concealed it for
so long.

"Come along, then! But tell me your name, lass. I feel so
foolish at how we've treated you."

"My name is Deros. I come from a land far away. You
were all kind to me. Emerald. I didn't mind, except when
there was the fighting. I shall have to learn to do that."

"I hope not, my lass. If we have any luck left to us at all,
we shall have Owen and Kegin out of this drab hole, and
find them aid. There is something amiss here, though, for
our friends the Dariens have deserted us."

"They were going to make me marry their ugly little
leader! He had all the others go to fetch you, because they
needed your blood to do something with. I don't know what
they meant, but it had something to do with the well where
you found me."

"Is that the well the Querle was trying to keep us from
reaching?"

"It is a strange place. Emerald.'I can smell the sea in the
lands where I dwelled. I think this may be one of the
channels that cross between our lands."

"A well? It must be such a well as a poor minstrel has
never seen the likes of! Before this has all played out, we'll
find more about it, I'm sure."

Emerald searched a bit further into the chamber where
he had most recently held off the Dariens, but aside from
the cast-off crossbows and bolts, and various other weapons,
there was no clue as to what had happened to the mounders.

"They seem to have withdrawn in a terrible hurry," said
the girl.

"Or been driven away. Come on, let's tend to our two
wounded."

"Are they hurt badly?" asked the girl timidly -

"I think they've been put under a spell of some son.

318 THE THREE KINGS

Owen's mother was felled by the same black business as
this."

"Those ugly little people said the water from this well
would undo any of their spells. They gave me some to drink
when I was first brought here. That's when they found out I
was not a boy."

Deros shuddered and clasped her arms tightly to herself
as if warding off a chill.

"That ugly elder found my braid and guessed the rest. I
was so weak I couldn't struggle. I thought they were going
to do something horrible to me!"

The frightened girl shuddered again, and wept.

"That was why my father disguised me as a boy. He knew
I would be in less danger if I traveled as a man. I tried so
hard not to let you three find me out!"

Emerald laughed and reached out to reassure her.

"You succeeded, young lady. You could have knocked us
all over with a feather when those stuffed little turnips came
out and told us that we were traveling with someone we had
no idea at all about."

"I had seen what happened to all the others along the
way," wept the girl. "I knew my father was right. My only
chance was to keep my true identity a secret."

"Those two louts there will be sorely surprised to know
you now, lass. Let's see if we can't find some way to rouse
them. The sooner we are away from here, the sooner HI feel
easier."

"I think if we could get some of the water of the well to
them, it might revive them," said Deros. "Then we could
find our way out of here."

The minstrel walked slowly back to where Owen and
Kegin lay, their features a gray waxy color that disturbed
him deeply.

"I don't like the looks of this. Let's hope that something
works! I don't like to think of having to go on with this whole
business alone."

Deros had knelt by the raised circle of stones that marked
the edge of the well, and touched her hand to the water.

The Veils of Trmia                  519

"Look, Emerald! See the ripples? They are like rainbows
there. And see how dark blue the water starts to turn there!"

"This is the strangest of things." Emerald nodded. "I get
the distinct feeling it's trying to tell us something."

His senses tingled like something was tickling his memory
just at the edges, and a faint impression of a person from a
lifetime ago kept nagging at the borders of his mind's eye,
but he could not place exactly what the thought was. A faint
image of a large bird crept nearer to his thoughts, although
he could not tell if it were his thoughts, or an image that was
deep inside the fathomless blue shadows of the mysterious
wcll-

"Do you think they can hear us?" asked Deros.

"Owen?"

"No. Them!"

"I think we are still in their own backyard, and they
probably have a dozen other tricks to play. It doesn't seem
likely that they would just throw down their arms and desert
the field."

"Then let's hurry and find our way clear! I'm frightened,
Emerald! I know that ugly little brute isn't going to give up
so easily. I saw the way he looked at me!"

"Get something we can use to give Owen and Kegin some
of the water from the well. Your cap will do."

Deros took her cap off hurriedly and offered it to the
minstrel.

Emerald laid Owen's sword beside the well, and dipped
the girl's hat into the water, which had grown more agitated
as the two talked. A silver stream of moving shadows curved
gracefully up from the surface of the well and touched
Emerald's hand as he scooped up the water with the hat,
and it felt to him as though a living thing had brushed
against his skin.

"What was that?" asked the startled girl.

**I don't know, but 1 know it tested me. There is a great
power here that could destroy us easily, if we don't pass
muster."

"Do you think it belongs to the Dariens? If it does, I think
we're lost! We'll never be able to get out of here."

320 THE THREE KINGS

"I think this was something that is much older than the
Dariens. They are a relatively new clan compared to who-
ever was around when the stones were laid around this
well."

The stones were all cut and laid in a precise fashion, and
when examined more closely, were seen to have tiny scenes
carved into the hard surface with such intricate detail, it
amazed them that a hand could have held a tool that would
work in so small a fashion. There was a row of reddish
brown stones, then green, then blue, and the top layer was a
smooth black, which was deep and reflected what seemed to
be distant stars within its shiny surface.

Emerald took the girl's cap full of the mysterious water,
and carried it to kneel beside his two motionless
companions.

Deros was crying as she sat beside Owen, and reached out
a hand to touch the dark, silent brow. "Do you think he will
be all right. Emerald? I have been such a burden to him'.
And poor Kegin! My clumsy feet have almost been the
death of him!"

"You had made us think we would have our hands full to
teach you the warrior's trade' I'm glad we won't be pressed
to continue that."

"But 1 have to learn it! My homeland needs alt her
children. My father sent me away to find what help I could,
and to learn any way I could that would help our cause
against the Hulon Vipres."

Emerald wet Owen's lips with the water, which seemed to
grow warmer to his touch. "Who are they? An enemy?"

"The worst of the lot. They have captured much of my
father's kingdom, and threaten to take it all!"

"Your father's kindgom? Is he a great lord?" asked the
minstrel, and saw the girl blush and look quickly away.

"I cannot tell you. It was part of my oath when I left. I
was to renounce being a girl, and any position I might have
held. I am now as you see me, with my oath of secrecy
broken, but I cannot be other than Deros, from the lands of
the Southern Fetch."

The Wells of Trona                 521

"You know I won't press you, lass! You're with your
friend, remember."

"I mean you no offense, Emerald. You have been the most
kind of all. I must keep to my oath, at least until 1 can return
home with aid for my father."

"I respect that. Help me with this lump's head! I can't get
the lad up enough to pour this down his gullet. He weighs a
ton like this."

Deros helped Emerald to hold Owen's head up slightly,
and the minstrel trickled a thin stream of the well water
slowly into the still, parched lips of the young descendent of
Famhart and Linne.

"If this only works," said Emerald with a sigh, "then we'll
have an answer that will help his mother as well."

"She was a very beautiful lady- I think she knew my
secret from the first."

"Linne? You think she knew?"

**I didn't think she would betray me. 1 was so frightened
when she was struck down by the spell! I thought someone in
Owen's camp had done it. I was barely in my senses then.
The settlement I had stopped at before, in Clover Hill, had
been attacked and destroyed by the raiders from the Leech.
It was a woman there who saved me from exposure! She hid
me in her barn so they couldn't find me." The girl trailed off,
sobbing. "I couldn't find her anymore after they were gone.
Only a few of us escaped."

Emerald reached over and stroked the hair back from the
frightened girl's face. "Poor lass, you've had a time of it."

The compassion in the minstrel's voice made Deros weep
the harder, and while Emerald sat trying to console the girl,
Owen's eyes opened with a start, and he jumped wildly to
his feet.

"It's the flowers! That smell was there when my mother
feir under that spell!"

"Owen! Good lad! Good, brave lad!" cried Emerald, and
he hugged the revived youth so stoutly that Owen's ribs
ached from it, and he was unable to draw a breath.

"Darek!" stammered Owen, looking over the minstrel's
shoulders, and seeing the girl, with her long dark hair

322 THE THREE KINGS

flowing down her back in the thick braid. "I mean, miss,
I—" he trailed off, confused and feeling such strange
upheavals inside he hardly knew what to do with himself, so
he returned Emerald's hug and sat down exhausted on the
edge of the welt.

"What did you do to bring me back?" he asked, when he
had recovered somewhat. "I could hear something, and I
knew where I was, but there was a black cloud that kept me
on the other side. I struggled and struggled to make you
hear me, but I couldn't get back! It was awful! If my mother
is caught like that, I can't stand to think of how she suffers!
We have to help her. Emerald! We have to get to her!"

Owen's resolve slipped, and lie had to cover his face with
his hands to keep the others from seeing the hot tears that
coursed down his cheeks.

"Buck up, lad! We have the very thing to help your
mother. We're going to wake this other lout now, and then
we'll find our way out of this pit we've landed in. I don't
think I'll miss not having to use my Darien anymore. It
hurts my throat to speak it."

Owen nodded his head. "I once thought it reminded me of
birds, but it is an ugly sound now! I don't care if I never hear
it again."

"With any luck, we won't, lad. Now come help me with
Kegin. All we have to do is get a drop or two down him."

Emerald gave the cap back to Deros to fill, and she
hurriedly completed her task and returned, unable to meet
Owen's eyes as he watched her.

"Why do you stare at me so?" she asked shyly. "Are you
still so angry with me because I'm not a good fighter?"

Owen blushed to his ears, unable to make a ready reply -

The minstrel saw the difficulty the youth was having and
laughed, a clean hearty laugh that felt as though it had
cleared away a mountain of gloom that had descended over
his heart since he had been among the ill-starred mounds of
Darien.

"He's not at all carrying a grudge over that, lass, I'll
wager! No, indeed, I think he's closer in spirit now to a

The Welh of Trona                 323

certain feeling that usually overtakes us all at one point or
another, and turns everything exactly upside under."

He laughed again, as he took the cap with the well water
from Deros, and administered a few drops to the cold lips of
Kegin. Owen held his protector's head up on his lap, and
looked anxiously at Emerald as the still form went on
unchanged and unmoving.

"It takes a pinch of time for it to work," assured Emerald.
'Tm not sure how it works, or why, but you're here before
us to prove its worth. All we have to find out now is a quick
way back to your mother."

"My father may already be there before us," lamented
Owen. "Poor Kegin! I've ruined his life by my insistence on
coming here!"

"Famhart will forgive anything, if you have something
that will bring your mother out from under this devil's
work."

"Look!" cried Deros. "He moved his eyes!"

Kegin moaned deeply, and tried to sit up. His limbs were
stiff, and he had to make another attempt, and finally
succeeded with Owen's help.

"That blasted foul smoke! I can't seem to rid my nose of
the smell of it' Sickly flowers! Ugh!" Kegin sneezed then,
and looked about him in a daze. "But what's happened
then? Are those little beggars gone?"

"For now," replied Emerald, handing Owen back the
sword Gillerman had given the lad. "This blade was our
redeemer! They couldn't get near us, or shoot us full of bolts.
There was a big commotion in the outer hall there a bit ago,
but whatever happened is a mystery. They are all gone now,
and I think it's time we made the best of that."

Kegin stiffly stood, tasting his legs. "I'm a bit wobbly on
my pins, but I think I'll be right enough if I can walk around
a bit."

He looked at Deros and smiled.

"Holla, lass! I wondered what it was about you that I
couldn't quite put my finger to. All that business with that
ugly outcast back to the Edges should have tipped your hand

324 THE THREE KINGS

then. That's such a girlish thing to do, falling down like
that!"

Deros burst into tears again, which made Kegin feel like
he had somehow done something unforgivable. He looked to
Owen and Emerald for help, but they simply shrugged their
shoulders.

"I didn't mean to," wept the girl. "I've tried so hard to
learn all this business of being a soldier, I promised my
father I would, for my brother is gone... " She trailed off
here, and cried for a time, tryng to gain control of herself.

"Was he lost in the wars?" asked Owen, handing her an
old piece of cloth that he carried to keep the feathers of his
arrows dry in their quiver in wet weather. She blew her nose
on it in thanks, and nodded in the affirmative.

"What was your brother's name?" asked Kegin, trying to
cheer up the weeping girl.

"Lord Tristan," she replied absently, wiping her nose.

"Lord Tristan? Is your father an elder?"

A stricken look crossed the girl's face then, and she
turned her glance downward. "I can't remember anything
right anymore. So much has happened, I sometimes feel this
is all a dream."

"It does seem that way now," agreed Owen. "Waking out
of that dark place I've just come from, 1 can hardly recall
what the sun looks like, or what color the sky is."

"Let's find out!" said Emerald. "We've wasted time
enough here. I think we can find something hereabouts to
carry away some of the water from our well. We must save it
to take to Owen's mother!"

After a brief search. Emerald found his harp and case,
and their pile of gear the Dariens had stacked aside in one of
the branches of a shaft off the main room of the Fourth
Chamber. There were their water flasks, and a larger skin or
two of Darien make that they filled, and Kegin picked up
crossbows and bolts for them all, so they wouldn't be quite
so vulnerable if they ran afoul of the mounders again.

"Do you think we could find whatever they used on us to
put us under that spell?" asked Owen. "It might come in
handy before this is all done and over."

The yells of Trona                  325

"That's an excellent thought. Master Helwin," said
Emerald. "It would be good to have it in our kit, in case we
ever needed to play a rough crowd to sleep!"

"How do you think the Dariens kept from going under,
too?" asked Kegin. "This place is as tight as a tomb! They
would have had to breathed it when they got us!"

"Maybe something to do with the well water," suggested
Deros. "I heard a lot about the well. I think they have all
drunk from it. It brought you back from the spell, so I think
if you were exposed to it again, it wouldn't work."

"You see?" teased Emerald. "You're needed for your
brains, lass, not the muscles in your bow and sword arm!
Who would have thought of something so simple as that?"

Deros blushed and grew so flustered she rattled a great
many bolts for the crossbow she carried, and tried to rear-
range the small knapsack so it would accommodate all the
things she had gathered in a pile at her feet.

"This well is something," said Kegin, who had stopped to
look into the depths of it, and found some small vision that
floated in its deeper parts, just out of his reach. "Look!
There is some kind of reflection there!"

The others crowded around him to look into the well, and
were jolted by a sharp sound that came from above, in one
of the upper levels.

"What was that?" asked Owen.

"Boots!" snorted Kegin. "Lots of boots!"

"And coming this way," added Emerald, listening care-
fully. "It may be the Querle has finally cowed his cronies
into coming back to attack again."

"Let's leave," pleaded Deros. lt! don't want to face that
horrible little beast again!"

Emerald took the girl's arm, and led her toward the shaft
outside, that seemed to be a main north-south tunnel that
ran from one end of the Darien Mounds to the other, with
feeder chambers leading off both sides into other mounds in
the group. Emerald explained to the others how the mounds
were made up like beehives, and how alt the chambers and
shafts interconnected at some point, and that they would all
lead them back eventually to the fresh air and freedom.

326 THE THREE KINGS

"If we don't run afoul of the mounders in between,"
corrected Kegin.

They had gone no more than a few hundred steps, when
they heard the war horns, and the rattle of steel against
steel, and the dreadful din of voices, hoarse and strident,
baying out like great wardogs locked in mortal combat.

"That's coming from in front of us," warned Owen. "And
moving this way!"

"Aye, lad," confirmed Kegin, beginning to draw back his
crossbow, and making sure his sword was close to hand.

Owen mimicked his instructor, and felt the eyes of Deros
on him, which confused him greatly, and he had a difficult
time getting Gillerman's sword back into its scabbard.

"We can go ahead a bit further before we reach a danger
zone," said the minstrel. "If we can, we'll wait this out in
one of the side shafts. I don't see any reason to show
ourselves unless we have to make a fight of it."

He turned to the others, then looked sternly at Deros.

"Here, lass, put your cap back on and wind that hair up in
a braid beneath it!"

Owen was flustered again when the girl handed him her
weapons and knapsack, and set quickly to work winding her
long hair about her head, then pulled her cap down securely
over it, becoming in a few moments the old familiar Darek
again.

Kegin had stepped up to the side of one of the shafts, and
stood looking upward at it for a time, and at last he
motioned to the others to come and look at what he had
found.

"What is it, Kegin?" asked Emerald.

"Steps! I think there were steps carved here!"

"There's nothing," argued Owen. "How could you see
steps?"

Kegin looked about for something, and he scoured the
floor of the chamber, and of the chamber across the main
tunnel, sniffing about like a dog on a cold scent- "I can't find
what they used, but maybe these iron bolts for the crossbows
will work as well."

The Wells of Trona                  327

As he spoke, Kegin took two of the metal bolts out of his
quiver and inserted them into a string of small holes that
had been drilled into the smooth surface of the stone.

"Look! This goes on up to somewhere above! Give me all
your bolts! Hurry!"

"Why, you're right, Kegin! It's like a ladder!" said Owen,
much impressed with his friend.

"Hurry, lad! It may not go anywhere, but I have an idea
the Dariens have been afraid of their shadows for so long,
they may have just put a few escape holes here and there to
be on the safe side."

As Kegin talked, he inserted more of the bolts from the
crossbows into the small holes in the wall, and climbed
steadily higher, until he was but a shadow in the upper part
of the chamber roof.

"Be careful!" cautioned Emerald. "We don't have any-
thing soft for you to fall on down here!"

"I won't need it," he replied, sounding muted and far
away. There was a silence then, and then the sound of him
coming down very fast.

"It's there! I hadn't expected anything so good, but it's
there! Hurry, and we'll find our way out of here before any
of the Dariens or anyone else knows we're here."

"Can you climb?" asked Owen, turning to address Deros.

The girl nodded. "I'll have to, if I want to get out of this."

"Good girl," encouraged Emerald, "Let's see to it we all
stay together and go carefully. Keep a tight grip on the
shafts, and don't try to do anything fancy."

Emerald was ready to go on with more cautions and
instructions, when the tide of battle crested in the great
central tunnel outside of where they were, and in the brief-
est moment before they began to climb for the safety of the
secret passage that would take them outside, the minstrel
thought he saw what looked to be a bear in full battle armor,
with a large, pointed helmet, leading a party of heavily
armed men along the smooth corridor.

Emerald shook his head, and promised himself that he
would take a long time to rest and study with Gillerman and

328 THE THREE KINGS

Ephinias, if ever he could manage to find them still at work
in these Lower Meadows.

Ephinias would know about the bear, he thought

hopefully.

Fire and Destruction

As the battle intensified upon all fronts, the night became as
bright as day, and the fires that had begun in the wood raced
out of control, consuming everything, and raging with a
noise that was dreadful to hear. On top of it came the din
and racket of the blood-crazed warriors, locked desperately
into a wild dance that whirled and spun with a dizzy pace,
grotesque in the red glow of the fire, and maddened by the
smell of death.

The troops of Largo had held the invaders at the river,
although there were those unfortunates who had managed
to gain the opposite bank, only to be devoured by the unseen
Rogen. Largo rode back and forth on a tall black horse,
gloating and throwing his head back in crazed laughter
every time he saw the enemy troops gain the Trew side of
the river, on!y to be set upon with an irresistable assault that
left no trace of the victims other than the cast-off clothes
and armor.

Largo spurred his mount, and guided it carefully past the
slaughter of another troop of Channeliers, and stopped right
at the water's edge, where he had a good view of the blazing
inferno of the enemies' camp. A hatred that burned inside
him as fiercely as the fire across the river spilled out of him
like a torrent, and he threw his fist out, shaking it violently.

"You see, you scum! You are dealing with Argent Largo,
the Invincible! We will leave nothing but ruin behind us

Fire and Destruction                   329

because you dared to attack the rightful heir to the Lower
Meadows!"

He stopped to laugh again, but his eye was drawn to
another light on the river, further up and on the South
Channel's side. It was as bright as the red-orange of the
inferno which raged through the darkness, but it was differ-
ent, and something about it struck a chord of fear in what
would have been Largo's heart—if there had been anything
left of it after his return from the cold instructions of the
Dark One, as she carefully brought him back to life to do
her bidding once more in the Wilderness.

There was a great deal of horns and pipes, and many
chorused voices that rang out over and over, and they
seemed to be chanting names, but he could not understand
them. Some were so garbled by the roar of the battle that he
made little sense of them, other than to feel a wave of fear
and loathing at the sounds, but then there was one outcry
that caught and held his attention, and his eyes burned in
his fevered brow until he felt as though he would be con-
sumed by a fire that was hotter than the one which raged
through the woods.

"That cursed name is here to blight my victory," he
screamed, pulling at his hair, and'striking himself savagely
on the mail shirt that covered his breast, "Letta! Rogen!
Come quickly! We must destroy this mite that would sting
me!"

Largo waved his sword above his head, and spurred his
horse into the river as though he would crash forward in a
full frontal attack of the entire force of the enemy, but a
shower of arrows rained down nearby, and he was forced
into a hasty retreat.

"Letta, blast your soul, if you have one! Come forth!"

A whirling gray wind blew up, licking at the river's edge,
but staying clear of it, and a damp chill touched Largo's
feverish skin.

"We shall rid this world of one of my most hated enemies,
Letta! This shall be our crowning glory! We will have ridded
the Channels of the infernal Bern, and I shall have the

330 THE THREE KINGS

exquisite pleasure of knowing my dear sister's loving hus-
band has fed you and your sisters!'*

A shapeless form emerged from the cold, gray wind, and
Letta's voice echoed in a hollow fashion against Largo's ear.

"The Lord Trew bound us to these limits, my pretty? You
have to lure your unwilling little fly to us, before we can
have him up in our web."

"Curse Trew, and all his tribe!" cried Largo. "Famha'rt is
ashore on the other side of the river, and we shall have him
up before the night's out! And there will be no protector for
the dear, pure Linne when I arrive in the name of Largo to
take up my rightful kingdom!"

"We cannot cross the river," repeated Letta, and the gray
wind whirled into a cold finger, pointing away toward Trew,
and then was gone.

"Curse your eyes!" screamed Largo. "I need Famhart's
head! You can have the rest of him! I want to deliver his
head to my pure and upright sister! I shall remove the spell
long enough for her to see I am returned, and I'll give her
her precious Famhart in a sack of ash!"

Largo called again for Letta, but the Rogen was gone,
back at her grisly work among the forward elements of the
armies of Bern. He pulled the scorched amulet from his
neck, and called aloud for the dragon, but without a fire to
rouse the beast, there was only a lifeless blackened necklace
that stared back at Largo, driving him into a deeper frenzy.

The chorus of voices from across the river began again,
carried on the back of the fire, rattling against the sky, and
Largo grew more crazed with each renewed roar.

"I shall have you! Your cursed name will ring in time with
my victory cry!" shouted Largo, his voice hoarse with
hatred. He reined his horse in, and turned the animal with a
cruel cut of the bit, and thundered back toward his com-
mand post at the top of a slight rise that ran the distance
between the ruins of Rogen Keep and the Darien Mounds.
On both sides of the rise, the ground sloped away sharply,
suggesting that the small hill had at one time been part of a
walled moat or canal of some sort. Here Largo had planted
his battle flag, and guided the Rogen and the other troops of

Firv and Destruction

331

his army toward the hot spots of the on-going battle. He
dismounted and paced frantically about on the ancient
ground, slashing his leg viciously with his riding crop.

A plan had begun to formulate itself in his head, and he
gave a sudden little hop of glee as he ran it through again.

"Letta!" he screamed hoarsely, "Letta, get your sisters
together for a real blood-letting! You shall have the cream of
the crop of the Line! I shall fetch you my second-most-hated
enemy to dine upon! Look sharply, now! I'm counting upon
you!"

Largo laughed then, and mounted his horse roughly,
spurring the poor brute with sharp stabs of his spurs. He
rode straight to the river, and sought a place where it was
shallow enough to ford. As he went, he drew his cloak about
him, so that the enemy could not readily tell if he were a
friend or foeman. He splashed across into the outer realms
of the South Channels, his horse blowing heavily and stamp-
ing the ground in an excited dance of sidesteps and pawing
movements. The noise was unbearable, and the flames of the
forest fire leaped higher and higher into the night, making it
hotter than an oven, and threatening to touch off anything in
its path.

Largo saw a white banner floating on the burning wind
that thundered ahead of the fire, and made directly for it,
wrapping a white neckerchief about his sword hilt as he
went. Satisfied with his work, he held it out froip beneath his
cloak as he rode, watching the fire reflect from the steel and
the whiteness of his signal flag, expecting any minute to be
stopped, but going forward unhindered, until he was far
inside the perimeter of the enemy camp.

There were slain Channeliers amidst the bodies of the
stewards, and in one place. Largo drew in his horse and
stared malevolently at the small bodies of three of the
waterfolk, with ugly black bolts from crossbows driven
through their throats.

"Good riddance!" he spat, muttering oaths under his
breath, and hoping that the bowman who had done the work
was no longer around.

Another few steps forward, and he was grabbed roughly

332 THE THREE KINGS

by the knees, and a man was at his horse's head, wrenching
the reins from his hands.

"What is it you want, stranger?" demanded a gruff man,
garbed as a Line Steward. "Speak quickly, on your life!"

There was a sharp pain at his ribs. and Largo looked to
see a younger man standing beside his horse, with a mail-
piercing spear lodged next to the open slot beneath his arm.

"Hold friend, I come seeking your leader. I hear we h'ave
the great Famhart among us!"

"He is just come! And we have the Lady Elina to stand
beside us as well. Are you a Channelier?" asked the gruff
Line sergeant.

"Hardly, my good fellow. I know Famhart will want to
see me. I have news of a nature that concerns his wife, and
her welfare."

"Who be you, stranger? Speak out! I wouldn't feel too
amiss if we had to leave your carcass here for the birds'
breakfast on the morrow."

"Argent Largo," replied Largo smoothly. "And I know
the one thing that Famhart needs to know to help his
precious wife."

"Climb down off that animal," ordered the sergeant
bruskly. "If you be who you say, then let's have some
proof!"

"I think he's telling the truth," said the younger steward,
who stood holding the spear to Largo's side.

"Listen to your young friend," cautioned Largo. "This is
a matter of life and death. Your cherished elder will make
you pay dearly for costing him the information I am pre-
pared to give him."

"Fetch up a messenger, lad," ordered the blunt sergeant.
"Find out where we can find Famhart!"

"Now you're beginning to show good judgment. Stew-
ard." Largo slowly dismounted, his eyes looking about
apprehensively.

"I've heard your name before," continued the steward
sergeant. "It wasn't a name that pleased me over much."

"You flatter me, Steward," replied Largo coolly. "I

Fire and Destruction                   333

should like to think that there must be something of great
import attached to my name if you've heard it here."

"Nothing of much import, master, just a word of
caution."

"Caution? I shouldn't wonder. Your elders are trying to
keep you in ignorance of how matters truly stand. I think
you might have heard of my small offer to any of those who
would like to join me, and reap the harvest of plenty that
goes to the strong and victorious!"

"I've heard tales from that quarter 'til my ears fairly
ring," shot the sergeant. "Then there's the Red Bear over in
the Channels been up to the same mischief. Now you two
fellows seem to be hard at trying to do one another in! I'm
glad to report that the squadrons of the Line, and our allies
from the old clans are helping you both to find a quick road
to glory!"

Largo's jaw clenched and he grew ashen white, but he
spoke evenly, "I cannot find fault with you, sergeant, for
you're no more than a lackey! What would your masters tell
you except lies? They have kept you under their thumbs for
so long now, it's no wonder you believe them. I am willing to
share power and spread wealth to the ranks! All who follow
me will have a say in what befall? them!"

"Mighty tall talk for a renegade," said the sergeant. "No
matter what clever words you use to try to color it differ-
ently, it all washes out as the same mulhash in the end."

A mounted messenger forestalled Largo's reply. Famhart
had been found, and upon hearing Largo's name was follow-
ing close behind.

Within seconds, a heavily armed party, which included
both stewards and elves, pulled up. Famhart emerged from
the others of his group, and strode to where Largo awaited
him. A dangerous look flashed across Largo's face, and he
reached up and touched the amulet at his throat, and was
seen to mumble something under his breath, although his
movement had brought the sergeant closer, ready to counter
any attempt upon his leader.

"There you are. Largo! It has been a long hard time
between you and me and your sister! What do I owe this

334 THE THREE KINGS

visit to? Speak, man! I can hardly make myself stop these
men from hobbling you to the nearest tree with a length of
hemp around your neck!"

Famhart's voice was thick with emotion, but he was
carefully under control, and paced to within a foot or two of
his brother-in-law. He saw before him a ghost from the past,
for the Largo he looked at had not aged a month, although
his own hair and beard was shot through with gray.

"Your travels have tired you, Famhart! You look done in!"

"My travels wouldn't be half so necessary, if you were of
a more fortunate temperament."

"We shall see who has the more fortunate temperament,
my good master! I have a bit of news that might interest
you, if you can keep a civil tongue long enough to hear it."

"Your visit interests me greatly. Largo! My stewards are
rooting at the ugly sore called the Red Bear and his army,
and here I have the very core of the boil in Trew! What
would keep me from slaying you now, and having done with
half my problem?"

"You cannot slay someone who has yielded to you,
master. You well know that!"

Largo knelt at Famhart's feet, and placed his sword
down, touching his head to his boot top as he did so.

"I yield, Famhart! You cannot harm me now!" said
Largo, looking up with cunning eyes. and a crooked smile
that masked his handsome features with an ugly glow.

"I cannot do otherwise than accept your sword. Largo!
You shall not be harmed in my camp for so long as you have
yielded! It is the law, and must be obeyed."

"I could say he went for his dagger, sir," offered the gruff
sergeant. "No one would blame you, sir, if you were to lop
his head off in self-defense."

Famhart shook his head resolutely, his eyes a dark shade
that Largo couldn't read. "No. The law will be obeyed while
he is at my mercy. But I cannot tarry long here. What is it
you wish to tell me? The messenger said it was important."

"It is important if you consider my sister's life impor-
tant!" said Largo, reveling in the sudden stiffhess that

Fire and Destruction                   335

struck his hated enemy. It was as though Famhart had been
struck a physical blow.

"Speak, you miserable wretch! Speak, or by the Hand of
Windameir, I'll tear your tongue from your head!"

Famhart had lunged at Largo, and had the younger man
by the tunic. The messenger and the sergeant separated the
two, and held their elder back from the shaken, but defiant
prisoner.

"So this is the way the great Famhart stands by his
word," taunted Largo. "I yield, and in front of witnesses,
and this is the treatment I get!"

"You are lucky to still be breathing," admonished the
sergeant. **You'd best hold your tongue! I am under no duty
to spare your life! You haven't yielded to me!"

Largo looked at the steward evenly, although there was a
tremor in his voice as he spoke. "I have yielded to the
stewards of the Line. That is enough. The code is the same
for all."

"I will renounce my oath, sir, if you will it, to rid ourselves
of this worm which has come to crawl among us, and throw
up our code before our faces!"

Famhart waved the sergeant off. "I wouldn't have your
hands fouled with a deed like that, sergeant. Now, Largo.
Speak!"

"I know how you treasure my sister, master steward, and
if you love her as much as you proclaim, you might be
interested to learn of the way she fell victim to the black
sleep!"

"Why do you come to tell me this? What could you
possibly gain, except your miserable life? If I had met you in
battle, or any of the stewards, or dreamers, you would have
been a dead man before you had a chance to yield!"

"That's why I took it upon myself to come as I did. I have
a proposal to make that might change your mind about me."
' All about the gathered men, the sounds of an intensified
battle fell on their ears with a dull, leaden roar, and the fire
had leaped higher still, teaching off the tops of even the
tallest trees, and sending explosions of sparks cascading
high into the torn and broken blanket of night.

356 THE THREE KINGS

"You can have the mystery solved, if you come with me,"
Largo continued. "I have the object you need to break the
spell my sister is in."

Famhart looked hard at the handsome young man, his
thoughts full of Linne, and the pain her brother had caused
before.

"And what shall Argent Largo ask in return for, this
favor? If it's more than for his life to be spared, it cannot be!
I cannot offer anything more than that."

"That is all I seek," replied Largo. "But I don't trust your
men! If you will have my help, you must come alone with me
to fetch the one thing that will save Linne!"

The steward sergeant reached a hand out and held
Famhart by the shoulder. "Don't trust him, sir!"

"I thank you for your concern, sergeant. If I accept his
offer, I shall expect you to stick close to the rest of the
squadrons. Stearborn shall be next in command, then Chel-
lin Duchin."

"Don't talk that way, sir," implored the sergeant. "It
don't sit right with me to hear you talk that way."

"I shall be perfectly all right! I have no intention of
allowing anything to stand in the way of getting my wife the
aid she needs."

"The pragmatic Famhart! Ever the good Boghatian,"
chided Largo cautiously.

"What is this thing that will help Linne?" persisted
Famhart- "If you have such a thing, and want to bargain for
it, you know my terms."

"I have heard your terms, master steward, but I don't
think they are quite good enough."

"Your life is enough. What else would you have?" asked
Famhart.

"Your word that I shall not be harmed! Delivered to all
your squadrons."

"You have my word on that."

"Your messenger has yet to tell it to the rest of your men!
And the filth you call the dreamers! I must have their word
as well."

Fire and Destruction                   357

"I can't speak for the Lady Elina or any of the Elboreal!
You trifle with me now, knowing how I feel about my wife."

"Yes, my good steward. I know you would like to murder
me, but you can't! You are bound by your stupid honor to
not destroy a sworn enemy, and that is why you shall never
prevail, Famhart! You and the others are so pure and fine,
like my cursed sister! Nothing shall save you, though, no
matter whether I reveal to you the spell or not."

Famhart ordered his messenger to him, and looked
harshly at Largo. "What proof have I you will hold to your
end of the bargain?"

"I shall lead you to the solution you are looking for to save
Linne. It shall just be the two of us!"

"Don't listen to him, sir," urged the young Line Steward.
"He's drawing you into a trap!"

"Let them all come with us to the river," offered Largo.
"If they see anything that resembles a trap, they can ride
across and slay me!"

"He speaks fairly enough," said Famhart. "How say you,
sergeant?"

"It seems fair enough at the top of it, sir, but I don't like
it. It's dark, and this end of the wood is gone up in flames.
There's a dozen squadrons or more^of the other side roaming
about here now, blood-crazed and drawn as tight as bow-
strings. There's no sure way to say that anything might or
might not happen now! We don't even know which way the
tide has turned."

"We know it has not turned against us, so we will be
content. Our aim was to divide the camp of the Red Bear.
We have succeeded. Now I shall go with this inhuman
monster and seek whatever he has that may help Linne."

Largo's eyes flashed, and he clenched his hands tightly at
his sides. "You are ever the fool, Famhart! You have been
ever since you fell for the foolish woman who called herself
your wife! If you had known her more thoroughly before you
were bound to her by the nuptial ties, you would have seen
what an ambitious wench she was! She was the cause of my
father's death, and the loss of the Marshes, and the ruin of
all that my father had intended to leave me!"

538 THE THREE KINGS

"Then I am still the fool. Largo, for I want to spare you-
It would do Linne's heart no end of good to know her
brother had relented, and taken a step to remove her from
the spell. If for no other reason, I will go with you. Largo, in
hopes that what you have said is true, even if only in a small
degree."

"Good! Excellent!" said Largo, barely able to concel his
excitement. "Let's go. You'll be able to accompany me
across the river, and I dare say you'll be back with your own
kind before the hour is out."

"I still don't like all this, sir," said the Line sergeant. "Let
some of us come across with your, sir. We'll give our word to
you now we won't life a finger to harm this lout! It's just not
safe to travel alone through all this."

Largo looked disdainfully at the part of stewards. "If you
all give me your word here, then you may feel free to cross
the river with your elder. I have no army gathered there, as
you'll see, and you'll find I have no other snare set. It's as I
said, I have gotten fearful for my life! I'm playing in too big
a stake to have anything but my own safety in mind."

"Then let's get to it! Sergeant, round up your messengers,
and have all the squadrons made familiar with this opera-
tion. Let them all offer any assistance they can to Largo, no
matter what becomes of me. As long as he is yielded to us,
we owe it to the code to protect him at all cost!"

"Aye, sir! Your wishes shall be followed."

There was a flurry of activity all about them then, and a
pocket of stragglers who had been separated from the main
body of the Channeliers burst upon the assembled group
with a ferocious attack that kept the stewards busy for a few
long minutes. When the thrust was beaten back, and the
forces of Bern the Red were in retreat. Largo led the way at
the head of the procession, with Famhart next behind,
followed by the others.

At the river. Largo turned for a quick look? to see if he was
still followed by the leader of the stewards, and Famhart did
not see the evil smile that was concealed in the depths of the
darkness and Largo's cloak.

A Snare Is Laid

Ephinias stumbled again in the gloom of the tunnel, and fell
forward against a rough stone surface that caused him to
cry out in pain. His companion thought he was attacked,
and began flashing the broadax about in a whistling circle,
coming within inches of the older man's head.

"Stop it, you blasted fool! You're going to split me open
with that oversized cleaver if you don't control yourself!"

"I thought you had been set on," apologized Aron
sheepishly.

"Not yet, but from the sound ofthings, we're not far from
it."

They stood poised, listening intensely.

From somewhere in front, and slightly below them, they
heard the sound of boots scraping stone. There was another
confused sound as well, slightly off to their right, but the
muffled echoes made it hard to keep the sounds separated.

"I don't like this a smidgen, not a smidgen," said Aron,
his voice tight. "If we were to turn around now and find our
way out of this lightless bug's nest, I wouldn't be too sorry
for it!"

"Nor would I, Aron, but I've got an odd feeling we are in
for it above or below. Besides, I think I'm on the trail of an
old student who was with me many turnings ago. He was
always up to his chin in every devilment that could be
devised, and there was nothing I could do to keep him from

339

340 THE THREE KINGS

it. The boy just seemed to be a natural draw to anything of a
troublesome sort."

"Exactly who we don't need to run into down here,"
complained Aron. "I was searching for someone who might
be of help to me and my clans, not someone who would be in
the way of being my end."

"Oh, pedash and fooh for your worrisome nature! This tad
was a draw to everything troublesome, but in a good way.
Bright lad, always up on his lessons, and had a keen eye for
things as they really were, and not just what they seemed.
Had a good ear for music, too!"

"Things as they really are here is a mutton stew of a
different flavor, I'd wager. I don't want to try to begin to
think of all the good reasons I could give us to back out of
here now, and make an effort to find one of the camps of the
stewards."

"Oh, we'll be finding them soon enough," assured
Ephinias. "They are afoot everywhere now."

"Do you think that could be an answer as to the noise in
the tunnels?"

The older man frowned, deep in thought. "It could be, but
I won't count on it. If it were only the stewards down this
shaft, I wouldn't have this dry taste in my mouth, or these
butterflies loose in my stomach."

The two men had continued along slowly as they talked,
inching forward with their arms to the wall to guide them-
selves surely, and turning their heads constantly to try to
pierce the dark shadows that surrounded them. There was a
general outcry then, and a vague, muffled noise that echoed
twice more.

"That was an exchange of blows, or my name isn't what it
used to be," exclaimed Ephinias. "I'd give a good night's
sleep to know what's been transpiring up ahead!"

"If we were tunnel rats, we'd have no trouble," suggested
Aron. "Just scamper up and take a look, then scamper on
back."

Ephinias snapped his fingers and shook his friend's hand
earnestly. "Thank you, dear friend, for reminding me!
Sometimes I think I've been at all this too long! If I don't

A Snare Is Laid

541

make myself notes, I sometimes forget most of the old things
I've learned."

Aron had pursed his lips to ask his excited companion
what he was rambling on about, when his nose suddenly felt
it had a whisker itch. When he brought his hand up to
relieve the tickling sensation he felt, he was shocked and
amazed that it was a fur-covered paw that did the job.

"Squeeeeeeek, squeak!" blurted Aron, terrified, his voice
rising still another octave.

"Shhhhhh," came the voice of Ephinias, although the
figure that spoke was a large blackish rodent with a pink
nose and red eyes, and long white whiskers that bristled on
both sides of the long, slightly bent snout. "You'll give us
away with that business! Now get hold of yourself, and try
to cough out your words from your throat! It's awkward, I
know, but you can do it with a little practice!"

"Squeee—I mean—what have you done to me? Do I look
like you? Oh, how horrid! I knew I should come to a baffly,
dogged end! I was warned by my betters that no good would
ever come of my continuing to dawdle about with this sort of
thing!"

"Hush up, Aron! All we want is a quick peek at who our
friends are in this shaft. It takes-a moment or two to come
out of this form, and we coutd be squashed like beetles if
anyone caught us before I could change us back!"

Aron made a series of noises that frightened him even
more than he had been to find himself in the form he was in.
"What will 1 ever tell my family? They will be mortified to
hear that their fine young offspring in the end turned out to
be a shaft-rat."

"Now hush, Aron! We must get on with our business here,
and that means that you will have to listen to what your new
body is telling you! Pad softly, and keep to the shadows!
We'll be all right, if we only keep our heads!"

"That's what I'm most interested in," squeaked Aron. "I
hope you know what you're doing!"

"I never have any idea what I'm about until I'm about it,"
replied Ephinias, which did not make Aron feel any the
better.

THE THREE KINGS

He fell off into a nagging chatter, and did not let up until
the two of them were close enough to the other intruders in
the tunnel to smell the strange scent of the humans.

"I can smell them," said Aron, testing the air with a
wriggling nose that brought his senses so many conflicting
messages.

"Of course you can! And from the odor, I would say that
we're dealing with someone who has an animal along! Can
you pick it out?"

"I don't know what I smelt," replied his companion. "I've
never used a nose like this!"

"There is definitely an animal down here," went on
Ephinias. "I can't quite decide what sort, though. It's not a
horse. There's something more dangerous to this one!"

"Well, there's me," sighed Aron. "Maybe you're just
getting a whiff of me!"

"I know the scent of a rat well enough. This is something
bigger!"

"I hope it doesn't smell a rat," lamented Aron. "If we can
smell it, then what's to keep it from sensing us?"

The older rat looked slowly around to its companion.
"You really are quite astute, Aron. That would most cer-
tainly be the case!"

"Then we'ti leave?" asked Aron hopefully.

"After we've found out who is here, and why. Shhhh!"
warned Ephinias, laying his ears flat, and pushing himself as
far back into the shadows as he could.

Aron started to protest, but there was something in the
look of his friend that silenced him, and he followed quickly
along behind, careful to be as quiet as possible.

The noise was trebled in intensity now, and there was the
unmistakable sounds of a battle closely joined. A shower of
arrows rattled dangerously near the two friends, but
Ephinias pressed on resolutely.

"We have only a little further to go," he said, turning over
his shoulder to reassure Aron.

"A little further might see the end of us, but I'm not
staying here alone! Let's get finished with this so we can
leave!"

A Snare Is Laid                   343

No sooner had Aron finished speaking, when eight or ten
heavily armed Dariens ran squarely at the two friends, and
it was only the smallness of their bodies that kept them from
being trampled by the frenzied mounders. Before they had
recovered from that shock, another greeted them in the form
of a large reddish brown bear, dressed in full battle armor,
and swinging a long black sword wildly about his head. The
steel of the blade struck green sparks as it glanced off the
smooth stone of the shaft, and rang hollowly in their ears,
with a dull throbbing ache. There were humans dressed in
battle armor behind this horrible figure, but the two friends
had eyes only for the bear.

**To Bern!" roared the plunging form of the big animal,
and he lashed out with the sword again, striking green
sparks very near Ephinias and Aron, who at first thought
they had been discovered. Another shower of bolts fell all
about them with a dull metallic clanging. One of the
humans in the war band behind the bear grappled violently
with a dart in his throat, then pitched face forward heavily,
gurgling out his life blood on the shaft floor, making the
footing treacherous for those that followed.

"Tall! Tall! Tall!" shrieked the mounders who had
counterattacked, and roared back into the passage with a
dull low cry like the groaning of a mountain in its darkest
breast.

The bear was overrun by the smaller Dariens, but he
stood his ground and reared onto his hind quarters, flinging
his attackers left and right like paper dolls, his teeth bared
and his red eyes crazed with the battle fever which raged
through his veins.

"Morghen! Arnault! To the Red Bear! To me, you fiends
from the gates of treachery!"

The humans in the party had been beaten back by the
onslaught of the Dariens, and now stood locked in close
combat with a force twice their size. Ephinias saw that in
the meantime, another party of the Dariens had closed off
the escape route.

Ephinias and Aron had to dan and duck for their very
lives to keep from being crushed to death beneath the wildly

344 THE THREE KINGS

flailing feet of the two warring factions. Aron squealed
loudly, and his tail was held fast by a large boot that crashed
squarely on it, but Ephinias saved the day by leaping up at
the man's knee, and biting into the leg there at that tender
joint for all he was worth. The man screamed in pain and
horror when he saw the large ill-natured rat, but recoiled
enough to free Aron. The two fled before the man slashed
and hacked wildly with his sword at where they had been
but a moment before.

"We have to get clear of here," shouted Ephinias, trying
to make himself heard over the frightful roar that became
louder still, until the noisy shaft became almost a perfect
silence.

Aron chattered his agreement.

"Down! We shall go on the way we were! Down!" cried
the older rat, and before Aron could protest, his friend was
scurrying for all he was worth through the forest of leaping
and struggling combatants, and gone safely on to the other
side.

Aron held his breath, said a small short prayer to himself,
and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was on
the other side, free, and running hard after the distant form
of his friend, ahead of him by a dozen yards or more.

"Wait!" squeaked Aron. "Wait for me!"

"Come on, lad! We've got ground to cover here! Run for
your very life, lad!"

That was exactly what Aron thought he had been doing,
but he ran all the harder when he heard Ephinias, shouting
breathless and afraid, over his shoulder in the dim tunnel.

And then there was no sign of his friend, who seemed to
have vanished into thin air.

"Ephinias!" squeaked Aron, then again, in a louder voice.
"Ephinias!"

The noise of the fight in the shafts behind him played
tricks on his ears, and he had to remember to focus on his
nose. It was new to him, but he slowly edged forward,
testing the air every foot or so, and he definitely could sense
that his friend was there, and close by.

"Ephinias?" he called out again, a sudden leaden fear

A Snare Is Laid                    345

settling over him. A low humming came to him then, and he
had only begun trying to fix the sound in his awareness,
when an enormous owl landed on the floor directly in front
of him, eyeing him hungrily.

"Ephinias, you blackguard! You meddling old fool!
You've left me trapped, and I shall never know what was to
become of me now!"

Hot wet tears rolled down his cheek, and it took him a
long second to register the impression that he was feeling a
tear roll down a warm skin that was not covered with fur.

He raised a hand, and rejoiced aloud when he saw his old,
familiar hand come up into his vision, and at the same
moment, he saw the owl was gone, replaced by Ephinias,
who was flushed with excitement.

"There's an end in sight to all our troubles! Hurry! We've
got to get down here!" blurted the older man.

"Where? What happened to you? I heard you, and then
you were gone! I thought I'd be stuck in that miserable rat's
body from now on!"

"No such thing," corrected his friend. "If I had walked
off that drop and splattered my brains without having the
good sense to take on another friendly form, you would have
been released from any spells I had worked on you. It just
ends, no more to-do, no explanations, no nothing! Look! See
for yourself!"

Ephinias led Aron forward, and against the darker gloom
of the shaft, there was a black gash that cut across the
tunnel in front of them, which oozed a sense of depth, and
the air was even more stale, smelling of a lower level
somewhere far below.

"These Dariens were a distrusting lot, as you can see!
This was a main shaft, leading you to think all you had to do
was bore on, and eventually you would reach the top, or the
bottom, depending on what you wanted."

"It looks like this would be a quick way to the bottom."
Aron whistled, stepping forward and dropping a button he
had in a vest pocket over the edge. After the first few small
noises it made as it hit the side of the wall, he could hear
nothing else of it.

346 THE THREE KINGS

"Oh, it goes on quite a while," explained Ephinias. "I
found where it comes back again, regular as anything. This
shaft runs in circles, and it ends up in not a few of these little
affairs like this!"

Aron's face fell. "Then how will we ever find the way out?
We could be stuck down here until we starve! I'm already
hungry, and I can't remember when I had a drink last!"

Ephinias shook his head. "I'm getting so loose in my wit, I
can't remember the simplest of things. Excuse me, my
friend! You really are good to remind me of these things!"

A simple water flask with a leather cover, and a wallet
that smelted of dried jerky lay at Aron's feet.

"Let's have a quick bite and a drink, and then I'll show
you what we're going to do next."

"I'm glad you have an idea! I can only think of how we're
going to be stuck down here, going round and round until we
break our necks on one of these falls!"

"Nonsense! Not as long as you're with me. If Gillerman
were here, we could rest even easier, but since he's not, we'd
best make do with what we've got! That's always the word I
got at the feet of my teacher! Make do with what you've got,
and don't regret what you've not!"

"Wise," snorted Aron, unimpressed. "I'd settle for a
chart to get us topside of this pit!"

"We shall be there, dear boy, don't fret! We have a task or
two yet undone here, though, so you'd best eat up and try to
gather your strength."

Aron disliked the older man's tone. "What task?" he
asked suspiciously,

"A simple matter of extracting my old student from a
good deal of difficulty! I sense his presence strongly now. I
wasn't sure at first, but he's reached out to me plainly in this
last hour or two. We're very close."

"The bear and those others are very close, too!" reminded
Aron.

"Indeed they are. An ugly lot, mark my word! We would
be better served to reach the stewards outside."

"Exactly what I've said all along," snapped his friend. He

A Snare Is Laid                  M7

was ready to launch into a long list of wrongs that had been
done him, but Ephinias closed his mouth with a look.

"Shush! Listen!"

The two companions could hear the distinct murmur of
voices, muffled and excited, but coming from somewhere not
far away. Aron eased carefully to the edge of the abyss
where the shaft ended, and listened for a long while.

"It's from somewhere down there," Aron reported. "And
I can understand a word or two. Someone just said your
name!"

"It's Emerald! I knew I could count on the lad to be in the
midst of all this."

Aron was in the process of speaking, when a strange
transformation made it impossible for his mouth to form the
words. There was a tongue, but his face felt odd, and he had
the definite sensation that his arms had grown long and
hung limply beside him.

"Now, watch," came Ephinias's voice, "All you do is lift
your wings up like this, and flap once or twice. Be careful of
the walls! You'll fly dead into one if you don't keep your
senses about you. If all else fails, just hold yourself open
wide, and you'll be able to glide down."

A series of startled cheeps and -garbled fluttering noises
came out of the furry black bat*s body that was Aron, but
nothing Ephinias could understand.

"Now slowly, Aron! Think carefully of what you're trying
to say! Just go slowly."

Aron's tongue worked clumsily, and his throat felt full of
something lumpy, but he managed to blurt out a few words,
thick and awkward to his sensitive ears. "What have you
done?" he asked, despairingly.

"I don't have time to teach you properly, but this will
have to do. If I had a proper amount of time, I could have
you using these fellow's native chatter, and how to fly like a
marvel! A shame! Come along!"

The black wedge-shaped figure with pointed wings spread
out like a sail filling in the wind, was gone over the edge of
the tunnel floor that ended in the open chasm.

Aron panicked, then crept slowly forward, struggling to

348 THE THREE KINGS

hold his arms wide. The next instant, he stepped out into
empty space, and felt the rushing sensation of the stale air
as it sped past him. He flapped wildly then, sending himself
crashing painfully into the far wall, which dazed him
momentarily, and he began a long, slow glide to the dark
bottom of the pit, somewhere below in the deeper gloom.

As he neared the floor of the shaft, he sensed Ephinias,
yet there were others, too. He could feel their heat, and
there was something else in his head, that was like sounds,
only more intense. Aron tried to stick out his clumsy legs to
break his speed on landing, but tumbled three or four times,
rolled into a tight ball. He secretly hoped that at least
something was broken, so he could show Ephinias how
wrong and inconsiderate the older man was, but when he
attempted to untangle his bat wings to rise, he was sitting
upright in his human form, staring at his own vest pocket.

"Aron," introduced Ephinias, speaking to some others
who were standing about the older man in a circle.

"Emerald," said the minstrel, holding out a hand to help
his new acquaintance up. "I see my old instructor has
already had you hard at it!" He laughed, but it was a kind
laugh, so Aron was not offended.

"I would like to say I've been instructed," he replied,
"But to my knowledge, all that's happened is that I've been
both a rat and a bat, and I'm none the wiser for either!"

"Then you are far ahead of the game, friend! I spent time
as almost everything Ephinias knew of, or had heard about,
and a few mistakes as well! A bat and rat sound fairly tame,
when you consider how much more you might have been
subjected to."

"Still might be," corrected Ephinias. "We aren't out of
here yet!"

"This is Owen Helwin, sir," said the minstrel, turning
serious. "He has the blade from Skye that Gillerman gave
him! We've been trying to reach him since we entered the
Edges, for we had hoped he would help us save Owen's
mother from a spell she has fallen under."

"Gillerman told me through the sword that we would
have to have a leaf from the Three Trees, wherever they are,

A Snare Is Laid                    349

to help her, but we found some water from a well here that
will work." It woke me up, and Kegin! And we have some to
take to her!"

"Well, my dear boy? Did you say you got water from a
well down here?"

"I heard them talking about it," said Deros, joining into
the conversation timidly. "It is very old, and 1 sensed some-
thing in it from my own country."        *

"Sometimes even the wise and all-knowing nephew Gill-
erman overlooks things, I see," said Ephinias, looking
sharply at the young woman, made up to look like a boy
again.

"This is Deros," explained Emerald. "She dresses like
this for protection. The Dariens' Querle was all in an uproar
to complete the ancient pagan rituals again, by capturing a
human from the upside of the world, and doing again what
the old Darien king once did."

"The poor fools," muttered Ephinias. "They are still
convinced that 'tail* will free them from all their shame!
Well met, young lady! You shall do well to account for
yourself. I see that you are not from our climes?"

"The Sea of Silence," replied Deros, suddenly shy again,
watching Owen.

"I have friends along that stretch. They should be glad to
see me, and more glad still to hear I have news of you."

Deros blushed deeply, and could not find her voice to
reply.

Ephinias turned to the minstrel. "It's good you have kept
her safe. It would be a hard thing to explain to her father if
anything should happen to her while she's in your keeping."

Deros pleaded with her eyes for Ephinias to be silent, and
after studying her for a few moments more, he abruptly
changed the subject, but not before Owen's eyes were wide
in anticipation.

"We shall have to go back a bit to rejoin the right tunnel,"
explained Ephinias. "There are roundabouts, and some
nasty tricks along the way. The Dariens* probably are busy
with the raiders in the shafts above, but I think they would

350 THE THREE KINGS

be happy to rely on these snares, and never have to close
with us at all."

"That must be why they left us alone," concluded
Emerald.

"Who's this?" asked Ephinias, walking to Kegin. "Yes,
that's why they sometimes vanish, Emerald."

"This is Kegin, Owen's guardian."

"You service, sir," said Kegin, bowing.

"We'll need it soon enough," said the older man shortly.
"We shall have a deal of a time getting past these clever
little bounders."

"There's a way we've found," said Emerald. "We got up
to this level by it, and I don't see any reason why we can't go
on."

The minstrel showed his old instructor the small holes in
the wall, and how they had inserted the bolts from the
crossbows.

"That would be jolly fine, my lad, but Aron and I have
just come from up there, and the shafts are full of all
description of nasty fellows going at it hammer and tongs!
We even saw a bear in battle armor, big as a house, and
speaking our tongue! There's some ugly medicine afoot,
when blokes take on the forms and philosophies of the lower
species to gain their own ends."

"The bear!" exclaimed Emerald. "Then you saw him,
too?"

"And I imagine we're going to see more of him anon, if I
don't mistake my signals," said Ephinias, who had turned
his ear to the upper wall, and fell silent, his face a mask of
concentration.

In the distance, the others now heard the dull roar,
growing louder as though a wave of noise had broken its
dam, and now rolled forth to engulf them.

Beyond the Fords of Stiver

In the long hours after midnight and into the early morning,
the battle at the Fords of the Silver raged on, with the
Channeliers of the Red Bear and the armies who flew the
flag of Argent Largo, locked into a combat with each other,
and with the Elboreal and stewards of the Line. The river
ran blood, the corpses were as deep as cordwood in places,
and the smell of death hung over the scorched earth like a
black pall.

Largo had led the way to the river, and true to his word,
there were no visible snares for the stewards to detect.
although none of Famhart's men could shake off the uneasy
feeling they had. Largo urged the group on, eager to cross,
but Famhart sat for a moment longer, surveying the bound-
aries of Trew by the trembling red-orange light of the battle
fires.

A faint movement had caught his eye, the barest of
motions that seemed no more than another flickering
shadow in the vast shadows of the night.

"What is it?" asked Largo. "Surely the darkness holds no
terrors for the great Famhart?"

Famhart did not answer, but peered intently into the
gloom, as though reading a strange cypher there. It
appeared to him that the vision was of the Elboreal, faint
and trembling, and their golden white light that shimmered
and shone elsewhere, was here muted and might have been a
light that was seen through a dense cloud.

351

352 THE THREE KINGS

"Strange," Famhart muttered to himself.

They were preparing to step out into the river, when the
light began to grow stronger, and the beginnings of the pipe
music started, which tore at Largo's ears like a grating of
steel on a raw nerve.

"Stop them!" he shrieked. "1 did not agree to letting those
waterfilth cross with us* I won't deliver the secret of the spell
if they are about! I warn you, Famhart! I won't show you
how to save your precious Linne if they don't go away!"

Largo had reached the point of hysteria, and Famhart
saw that to try to reason with him was out of the question.

"I can't control the dreamers," he said quietly. "I have
not asked them to come along, so I don't think they will
cross! The Lady Elina is her own commander, and Erases
does as he will!"

"Then make sure they keep out of Trew! I swear I won't
show you the secret if they step foot on the shore there!"

"Come on, lads," said Famhart, turning to his party.
"Let's go to Trew!"

The mounted riders waded their horses into the shallow
water of the ford, and started toward the opposite shore,
when the pipe music grew louder, and a faint gleam of silver
began to brighten right at the water's edge on the banks of
the shoreline of Trew. It grew more intense still, and in
another heartbeat, it was the shining figure of a woman,
beautiful and glistening with a thousand small stars that
seemed to be woven into her long hair.

Largo shrieked and fought to turn his mount, but the
animal stumbled, dumping his rider into the slow current.
He was on his feet in an instant, his sword drawn, taking
stumbling, running steps toward the glimmering figure, his
weapon raised above his head to strike.

Famhart spurred his mount, and overtook Largo easily,
but the younger man dove under his blow, and swam for the
middle of the river, screeching in an unearthly voice.

"Letta! Letta, you foul beast, to me! To me!"

He strangled on a mouthful of water and coughed, going
under, then coming to the surface again, all the time getting

Beyond the Fords of Silver

353

nearer and nearer to the banks of Trew, and his unseen
allies.

Famhart had given up the chase, and waited to see what
Largo would do once he reached the other side. The shim-
mering figure of the woman had dimmed, and now stood
quietly, watching Largo.

"Come to me, my dear Largo," she said softly. "Tell me
why you let your Elita go! If it had not been for my salvation
at the hands of the dreamers, I would have surely perished.
Now I want you to tell me why you did it, my sweet? You
knew I felt a special feeling in my heart for you."

"You're dead, you spiteful witch! I watched you die! You
can't harm me. You can harm no one anymore!"

Largo had reached the shore, and took a few trembling
steps in the direction of the woman, shaking his fist.

"You shall see what it is now to deal with Argent Largo!
Letta! To me! Here is a tasty beginning to your feast! Come
ahead and try to stop me if you can, Famhart! I'm here!
Everything you need to know is here!"

Largo taunted Famhart, trembling and shaking in a bout
of rage that racked his body.

As Famhart rode forward, another voice from the
Elboreal reached him.

'Tread carefully, 0 Rod of Truth! The Rogen await you
on the banks of Trew!"

Famhart could see nothing, but he believed the urgent
voices of the Elboreal. "Can you protect the woman?"

"She is protected. The Rogen cannot harm her, for she is
a child of Trew."

Largo raged and flung himself at the shining form of the
woman Elita, but she disappeared, only to be somewhere
else, just out of his reach.

"You are like all the rest," he shrieked, diving at her
again, without getting any nearer. He stooped and picked up
a crossbow that had been dropped by one of the unfortunate
ones who had been devoured by the Rogen, and aimed it at
the woman. He loosed the bolt with a curse, and watched as
it fiew through empty air, until it embedded itself in a thick
tree trunk not far behind the spot where she had stood.

354 THE THREE KINGS

Famhart was still in midstream, watching as his wife's
brother went mad before his eyes.

"My sister is doomed now, Famhart! You will never know
how to save her! She will waste away slowly, right before
your eyes, and there's nothing you can do! Argent Largo
was the one who felled her! I am the fate of that wretched
girl, and I'm glad I've done it!"

He had rearmed the crossbow as he ranted and carried
on, and he brought the weapon up swiftly, and loosed the
bolt directly at his hated enemy who sat before him on his
horse in the middle of the river.

Frightened by the sudden movement, Famhart's mount
reared just as Largo released his dart, which caught the
animal high in the neck, just below its ear. There was a
terrible, agonized scream, and then the horse was on its
knees, toppling into the water on top of its hapless rider. A
dozen men had leaped from the steward side to reach
Famhart, but Largo was there before them. The elder of the
Line had hit his head on a boulder as he fell, and was
stunned, unable to defend himself as Largo swarmed over
him, pulling him away from the mortally wounded animal,
and dragging him ashore in Trew by the collar of his cloak.

"Back, you swine!" he screamed. "I'll cut his throat and
gut him on the spot if you come any nearer!"

The stewards halted, milling about uneasily, torn between
their duty and their love of Famhart- "We'll spare you,
Largo, just as Famhart said! Release him to us, and you will
have all the protection of the Line!"

"Too late, you fine, pure Steward! I am going to feed him
to my ally, the wonderful Letta! But I shall keep his head, to
take to Linne as a trophy. That will please her!"

The steward sergeant saw that the fine line had been
crossed, and that the man before them had been pushed
beyond any hope of recall to sanity.

A cold wind had risen out of the darkness, and the
stewards watched helplessly as a gray form began to take
shape in the area where Largo stood triumphant over
Famhart. There seemed to be flickering capes, and hints of
hideous figures in the gray fog, things that set the mind

Beyond the Fords of Silver                355

recoiling in terror, and all the while it moved nearer and
nearer the still unconscious Famhart, who lay helpless
before the dreadful enemy.

Largo's face was contorted into a grotesque mask of
hatred, and his eyes rolled wildly in his head as he watched
the Rogen come for their prize. He turned to laugh at the

\   paralyzed stewards, when beside him. next to Famhart, was
the woman, Elita. She touched Famhart's brow, then held
tightly to his hand.
"He is a child of Trew," she called aloud to the horrible

;   forms m the gray wind. "I am the Lady Elita of Trew, and I
call this man Famhart a child of Trew. You cannot harm
him."

"Hurrah! Hurrah for the Lady Elita!" cried the stewards,
making a rush toward the shore to retrieve their leader, but
they were driven back by the hideous moans and growls they
encountered close to the shore from the Rogen, who had
now begun to manifest in various foul forms, driving the
horses of the men into stark terror. Some of the mounts
threw their riders and bolted away, and others simply
turned and fled, oblivious to their frightened masters.

"Back, you wretched fools! Stay away from him, Elita!
He's mine!"

Largo drew a short dirk from his waistband, and leaped at
the woman, but there seemed to be a solid wall about her
which he could not penetrate.

\     "Save yourself. Largo! I know your secret now! You are
doomed, but you don't have to return to the Darkness of the
Black Death! Renounce her, and you shall find peace!"

A green fire blazed in Largo's eyes, and his mind had
slowly been clouded by the presence of his old mistress who
had saved him before. The amulet at his neck burned his

'   skin, and he could smell the seared flesh.

"Curse you all!" he cried in a strangled voice. "I shall not

\   call this quits until I am the victor! You have bested me this
once, but I shall hound you until I am like a tidal wave
crashing over your puny defenses! I shall be back with more
of an army, and we shall see who has the last laugh here!"

;      Largo shook his fist angrily at Elita, then threw the

356 THE THREE KINGS

dagger at where her heart beat against her bodice cloth, but
the blade clattered away harmlessly, as if the knife had been
thrown against stone.

"Letta! Keep them at bay! Hold them from Trew!" he
cried, running down the top of the old moat wall that
ancient maps called the Ditch, which led toward the Darien
Mounds. Largo would have gone toward Rogen Keep, which
he felt was more formidable, but he reasoned to himself that
he could hide in the mounds until he could regroup his
forces and call up the dragon again. He knew the failure of
his plans was all because of the presence of the dreamers,
the wretched waterfilth who the Dark One had promised
him would no longer be around to trouble him, or stand in
the way of his ambitions.

He ran hard, keeping low to the ground, should any of the
enemy archers try to shoot at him, and darted from side to
side to try to throw off any who might have aimed at him.

The fires across the river had flared up tremendously,
then began to sink, having exhausted all the fuel in the
nearby woods. The shadows started to lengthen as the silent
part of the morning crept nearer to sunrise. Largo was
chilled to the bone despite his exertion, and he shivered
beneath his mail shirt. "Wretched traitors! They'll all pay
for this night's work!"

There was a troubling voice in his head, amid the noise
and clamor of all the jumbled thoughts there, and he tried to
keep it at bay, but he couldn't drown it out. It did not take
him long to realize that it was the old soft voice of the Dark
One.

"You have failed me. Largo, and caused my servants to
suffer at the hands of the Light! You know the cost of
failure. I told you then what I did to those who were untrue
to me!"

Largo argued inwardly with the voice, for it was not a
thing that he thought existed outside of himself. He hurried
along now, nearing the welcome havens of one of the open
shafts that led into the first of the ruins of the old Darien
Mounds. He knew there was a sort of stunted clan that was
a mix of the dwarfish and human lines, but he was unafraid

Beyond the fords of Silver                357

of them, sure that he would be able to call the dragon back
soon, for all he needed was the makings of a fire. And then
he knew the Rogen were the best watchdogs of all to keep
the hated stewards from crossing the river and hunting him
down.

"That unlucky shot," he cursed to himself. "If that
blasted animal had held its peace for a split-second longer, I
would have been rid of Famhart for good, and all these high
and mighty stewards would be carrying their dead away to
bury him, and I would be free, and rid of these foul sores
that plague me. Bern can't be faring much better than I,
although I'd like to have a good report on his status."

He thought that might be the way to appease the voice of
the Dark One, and was pursuing another idea along that
line, when he reached the entrance to the Darien Mounds,
and plunged headlong into it, hardly taking the time to
think what he did, or check his forward momentum.

After a few steps, his feet touched only empty air, and he
had the sinking sensation of having stepped out into thin air,
tumbling slowly forward and to his right. He landed pain-
fully on his shoulder on an outcropping of something soft a
-dozen feet below the surface. He kept pitching forward,
unable to stop himself, and as h& rolled, he registered the
fact that what had broken his fall was the lifeless corpses of
more than a hundred soldiers, all hacked and slashed
beyond recognition, and all wearing the uniforms of his own
army.

A shudder tore through Largo's limbs like a high wind
rustling leaves in late fall trees, and his heart hammered
heavily in his throat. At last he gingerly lifted himself free
of the pile of murdered men, stepping aside into what
appeared to be a faintly lit chamber at the bottom of the
long winding stairwell that he had missed in his headlong
flight.

As his heart calmed, and he began to sense that whoever
had killed all the soldiers was no longer in the tunnel, he
drew a breath of relief and tried to take stock of his
surroundings.

He could hear the distant sounds, once his heart stopped

358 THE THREE KINGS

hammering so heavily and the blood wasn't pounding in his
ears. There was the muffled sound of blows and chants,
along with some other noise that reminded Largo of the
Elboreal, which sent a shudder of disgust through him, but
when he turned and looked back at the stairwell littered
with the bodies of his soldiers, he knew there was nothing for
it but to go forward. He tried to remember what it was Elita
told him of the mounds, but couldn't concentrate* He
clenched his fists and gritted his teeth when he recalled
seeing her, more beautiful than ever, and most assuredly
brought back to haunt him by the miserable waterfolk who
seemed to stalk him like a curse.

Angered by the thought, he called aloud to Dorini.

"You have tricked me, 0 Protector! You told me I would
have my old territory all to myself, without having to deal
with any of the older clans. Why do you send this wretched
fate to me? Why do I have to contend with this Bern for
territory?"

There was no outward answer, but Largo felt a stabbing
pain beside his heart, and his head felt as though it were
caught in a vice.

"Enough!" he cried pathetically. "I yield. Only give me
strength to slay the wretched Famhart! Give me that, and I
will do anything you please. And the Red Bear! Give me the
Red Bear!"

Largo's eyes had grown wide and wild as he raved on, and
the green fire again blazed dangerously.

Almost in answer to his heated plea, there was a great
outburst of battle horns, and the strident cries of desperate
men locked into deadly combat. Somewhere in the tunnel in
front of him. Largo heard the rallying call of the Red Bear,
and his eyes glistened and seemed to see something amusing
far away, then went as dead and cold as a vast winter night.

"My service," muttered Largo, and he began to cast
about for a weapon. He remembered the slaughtered
soldiers, and returned quickly, holding his breath as he did
so, and making himself think only of the Red Bear as he
stripped a slain man of his arms- Largo strapped the long-
sword tightly about his waist, and armed the stubby cross-


Beyond the Fords of Silver                359

bow with one of the ugly iron bolts, and drew on the man's
helmet, which concealed his features, except for his mouth.

"Now we shall see who will inherit the Lower Meadows,"
he said to himself, a strange light burning menacingly in his
eyes. "If Largo is overthrown, then they shall all be over-
thrown! Death to them all!"

Largo went quickly forward, hunched over and keeping to
the wall to conceal himself, hoping that he would be able to
strike a fatal blow without revealing his hiding place.

The shaft which ran downward into the deeper part of the
Darien Mounds descended slowly, at an angle that made it
easy to walk, then dropped abruptly into a steep stairwell,
which was carved from the very rock. Water from some
unseen source had wet the stone, making it treacherous to
walk, but Largo went slowly, with only one thing filling his
mind. He had checked and rechecked his crossbow, and
paused to count the darts in his quiver, and drawn the
longsword to determine its heft. Satisfied with those prepa-
rations, he was thinking long fulfilling thoughts of the Red
Bear dead, and the stewards safely out of his way.

"It will be that way, 0 Protector! 1 have not failed you
yet! Give your servant one last chance to prove his mettle."

At the foot of the stone stairs, -the tunnel branched into
three directions. Over each of the shafts was an archway
covered with intricate carvings and many runes that baffled
Largo. He tried to listen carefully at each of the entryways,
but the sounds of battle that reached him could easily have
come from all three.

"Guide me, o Protector!" cried Largo, waiting for a sign
to reveal to him which of the three doorways to choose.
When no voice came, he risked moving off on his own,
choosing the middle tunnel, which had the carvings of a
giant pyramid surrounded by small pyramids, all arranged
in intricate patterns, and looking as though someone had
tried to clean off the finely wrought hieroglyphics.

Largo was well into the tunnel, when a noisy tramp of feet
made it clear that someone was approaching rapidly, and
there was no place to hide in the closed shaft. He glanced all
about him nervously, then cursing under his breath, ran

360 THE THREE KINGS

back toward the stairwell, hoping to avoid discovery, until
he was ready to strike.

Turning the corner, Bern the Red gave another mighty
blast on his war horn, rallying the few troops not slain by the
persistent, provoking, pint-sized Dariens, who would dog
their enemies until the foe could no longer keep up a guard,
then the small mounders would fall on in an overpowering
force that simply wore their opponents down. Bern had'slain
so many of the hateful halflings that he'd lost count, but he
wished to kill more. They came in endless streams, and even
his strong bear body was beginning to tire. If only he could
change back to his human form for a flash, and get the
renewed strength of his human form, he might be able to
fight his way clear until the threat had been met and
overthrown.

Morghen and Arnault had been cut off from him at the
height of the battle, and he had no way of knowing how
many of his assault party had survived. There were strag-
glers with him yet, but it was plain to Bern that the Num-
ber-one priority here was survival. He felt he would be all
right, once he could reach an exit which would deliver him
from the beastly small Dariens, with their tall battle hel-
mets, and who Bern knew to be crazed and malformed in
their thinking, for all their life was led in the dark tunnels
and chambers of the mounds.

It was with a hammering heart that Bern slowed, and
drew himself into a quiet cul-de-sac, waiting to see if anyone
had heard his call for help. The horn was at his lips again,
but he hesitated to blow, thereby betraying his cover.

"I am not so young as some of these who dwell here. My
arms are weary hacking at these tiresome little beasts. I
shall let my good Morghen and Arnault and the rest of their
lackeys deal with this trap, since it seems to smack of a plot
gone bad! Welcome to it, if it is the death of those two!"

Bern was breathing easier as he stood resting, and the
shaft seemed to be immediately free of Dariens, so he
lowered himself to his hindquarters, and sat heavily down,
laying his bloody sword beside him. It had been a vicious,
brutal fight, and he discovered that bis body was covered

Beyond the Fords of Sliver                361

with a hundred cuts and bruises, and there were wounds
that could have only been caused by bites.

"Ugh!" he shuddered. "I have been poisoned by those
ugly mites!"

He stood then, and repeated the ritual that allowed him to
change back to his human form, which was more comforta-
ble, for there were no wounds in that odd, furless body, and
he was well rested once more-

"Now we shall have a little surprise for them, if they
should stumble across me!"

He laughed quietly to himself, then began planning how
he would find his way out of the underground horror cham-
ber. He tried to recall all the marks of the shafts he had
come through, but that was all before they had been set
upon, and he couldn't remember how far he had come in his
struggle to be free, or how many turns he had made. There
were still sounds in the network of tunnels, and he could
hear the noise of battle still raging, now closer, now farther
away. He decided to wait until it was quieter, and then
explore about to see if he could find a clue as to a way to the
outside. It was his only plan, but at the moment, Bern the
Red had no other card to play. Once above ground again, he
could regroup his Channeliers,- and withdraw to plan
another strike. And there might be a chance that he could
still murder the leaders of the Dariens, or sneak into the
throne room of Trew, as was their original plan. As he
thought of that, and as the sure calming effect of having
come through a close encounter with death washed over
him, he became thirsty, and being thirsty, he thought of
water, and thinking of water, he thought of the Wells of
Trona.

"Of course! All I have to do is reach one of these wells,
and I can no longer be harmed! My whole thinking has been
thrown off by Morghen! They were using this ploy to come
underground so they could find one of the wells, and slay
me! Two crows with one stone! Curse their eyes, I hope their
bones rot in this stinkhole! But I'm on to them now. The
wells can't be hard to find. I can smell water!"

Bern immediately changed his form again, and tested his

362 THE THREE KINGS

nose. There was a musty, still stale smell about the shaft he
hid in, but there was the faintest trace of the damp feel of
water somewhere, although it was not close.

"Now I have it," he said, rising and picking up his sword.
"All I have to do is go carefully and slowly, and I will be
invincible! Once I've drunk from the well, no one can stop
me!"

The huge shape of the bear created a strange sight mov-
ing slowly down the shaft, and it seemed to have a shadow,
as another large form followed along behind, silent and
watchful.

At the first juncture of the tunnels, Bern hesitated, lifting
his head to test the air in the three directions, shuffling and
snuffling back and forth a few paces into alt the shafts, but
he at last chose the most promising one of the three, and
went on, pausing every few steps, yet unaware of the trailing
shadow that crept along behind him, moving forward when
he moved forward, and pausing when he paused.

This had gone on for many minutes, when Bern detected a
strange, musty odor that confused him, for it wasn't really a
smell of the mounds, or any of the things that belonged
there. He rose on his hind legs and turned around very
slowly, trying to get a bearing on whatever it was. but it was
so vague and faint, he gave up and went on, feeling a
growing nearness of the wet sensation that clung to his nose.

In the next tunnel, the scent of water grew stronger,
blotting out the other vague smell that had bothered him,
and as he hurried on, he detected the presence of humans,
and soon began to hear their voices, ringing clearly in the
still air.

"I'd vote for that," said one. "If we go on this way, there's
no telling where we're going to end up. Ephinias said they
had Just come from up there. It sounds like our escape route
is blocked up with both the Dariens and the bear!"

Bern's ears picked up, and his eyes formed malevolent
slits as he crept forward silently, listening.

"The well would give us protection," argued another
voice, a younger voice, for it was softer, and higher pitched.

Beyond the Fords of Silver

363

**I had a good feeling there. And if Owen's sword protected
us once, then it would do so again."

**I might call up Gillerman," said an older man. "The
well would be the perfect place to do it. I don't know why I
become so forgetful. Sometimes I think I must have too
much furniture in this old attic!"

Bern was within sight of the small group now, and he
flattened himself against the dim shaft wall to watch, and to
hear the rest of the discussion of the well.

Behind him, the other large shadow did the same, and
beyond the smooth floor of the tunnel, on the other side, and
in a niche placed in the wall to house an ancient Darien
statue, stood another figure, sword poised and ready to
strike.

WINDAMEIR'S
DREAM

Cross and Shield

Famhart came to from a horrible nightmare, where he was
frozen in time as two huge ranged beasts closed in on him to
drink his blood. He could see their dead eyes glaring at him
balefully, and could hear their low growls as they smacked
their lips and drooled hungrily for his life.

There was another figure then, that held out a warm
white beacon of light to him to hold, and it frightened the
gray forms away. They fell back in terror, although they
didn't run away, but seemed to lurk at a safe distance, and
content themselves with watching.

"You're safe now, Famhart! The Rogen cannot harm you
as long as I hold your hand. My name is Elita, and I am a
child of Trew."

Famhart stood, groggy and dazed, and tried to clear the
cobwebs from his throbbing head. "The Elboreal told me,"
he mumbled, feeling his jaw ache as he spoke- "I must have
taken quite a crack."

"You did! Largo dragged you here into Trew to turn the
Rogen loose on you."

"He's never been the one to let an opportunity pass! His
sister has wept many a tear over the poor devil. We thought
he had found some sort of peace, but even death was not to
release him from his hatred."

"1 had fallen in love with him when he came to Trew. I
was so simple in my beliefs. It did not occur to me that he
could be lying, or that all that he said was only a cover for
his real purpose." Elita's beautiful face darkened, and she
looked away from Famhart, unable to meet his eyes. "I

366

Cross and Shield                    367

helped him do a deed that I wish were otherwise now. I can
only plead with you for your forgiveness."

"What forgiveness could you ask of me, my lady? You
have saved me from a fate that sends chills down a grown
man's back, and you speak to me of some forgiveness that I
might offer you?"

"It was I who helped Largo to snare your wife into the
black sleep! He told me all his dirty lies, and I believed him.
Now your wife is under the spell of the black steep and will
perish if we don't free her soon!"

Famhart's handsome features clouded, and he started to
withdraw his hand from Elita's grasp.

"Don't," she warned. "I can't let my hold go of you until
you are safely on the other side. As long as you are in Trew,
I have to shield you from them."

He struggled with a code that ran close to the bone, but in
the end, he let the woman hold to him, and he tried to
understand what she must be going through-

"Do you know how to break the spell my wife is under,
my lady?" he asked at last, hardly daring to hope.

"Yes," she replied. "And the dreamers have gone to bring
her here, so that she will be delivered from that horrible
prison she has been in. I am so ashamed, Famhart. I don't
know if my heart will let me live if anything has happened to
her!'*

The leader of the stewards softened to see the distress
Elita was in, and he squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"You did what you did not knowing," he said. "And if the
dreamers are bringing Linne here, then you shall be able to
bring her back from that false sleep that has trapped her in
its black depths."

Famhart's attention was drawn back to his squadron by
their repeated calls and war horns signaling to him- He rose
shakily, and used Elita to steady himself, for his head spun
in dizzy circles for a few moments while he got his feet back
" under him.

s    "We have a new mount for you," shouted the steward
? sergeant. "We'll send him across!"

368 WINDAMEIR'S DREAM

"Where did Largo get to?" asked Famhart, his voice at
first unsteady. "Did you see what happened to him?"

"He must lead a charmed life. The last we saw of him, he
was heading along that old rock wall toward those ruins
yonder!"

Elita nodded. "He has gone to the Darien Mounds. I
watched him disappear there."

"Can you take me there?" asked Famhart, his'mind
slowly beginning to function again.

"The mounds are very dangerous now," replied the
woman. "I have traveled there in the past, but the Dariens
were not aroused."

"I must find Largo. We have been ill-starred since Linne
and I were together. We had thought him finally at rest long
ago, so I must try to make certain of his fate this time."

The darkness had begun to nibble at the flickering orange
light of the fires that burned slowly down all along the river,
and the sounds of battle had died away somewhat. Faraway
calls of signal horns and the distant drumming of sword-
strokes on shields fell more softly, and the unwholesome
smell of blood and death and scorched earth became more
pronounced as the silence continued to grow.

Across the Silver, Famhart's squadron eagerly awaited
his orders, and rode nervously up and down at the ford,
hoping for an opportunity to cross without being set on by
the Rogen, who still swirled about in the dense gray fog that
seemed so full of the fearful forms that had frightened off
the horses in the aborted attempt to reach their leader- The
horse they had for him was dispatched, and sent forward
with a slap on its flank. It shied away from the gray figures
that lingered by the bank, but soon was near enough to
Famhart for him to coax the animal into standing still long
enough for him to get a shaky hand on the bridle, and with
Elita's help, to calm the animal into allowing the two of
them to mount.

"Show me the way to the place you saw Largo," said
Famhart, turning to speak over his shoulder. "I must find
him before he gets away."

"You would do better to leave Trew now," replied the

Cross and Shield

369

woman. "Await the arrival of your wife on the river. The
dreamers will be coming any time now. Be there for her
when she is awakened!"

"I shall be," answered Famhart resolutely. "And with her
brother either alive or dead, but at peace! I can't be this near
to confronting him and just let him go."

"There are things that are better left alone," said Elita
softly. "I have no wish any longer to see him harmed. He is a
poor lost soul, just like those misdirected ones in Trew who
believed what he had to promise them. We all wanted to
believe whatever dream we needed to believe in."

"I can't leave this alone until it's finished. It's too old. He
is too dangerous to remain unchecked. The Dark One has
branded him as her servant, and it is plain that he must be
caught and freed. He still looks exactly as he did before the
Middle Islands. There is something there that is so unnatu-
ral that it can't be left untended. If the Black Death finds a
foothold now, then the worst of times will be again."

, "Then I have to go with you," said Elita evenly. "The
Rogen will never rest until they are freed from their tasks,
or until they have slain every living thing that is foreign.
You couldn't get more than a small way into the mounds
without running afoul of the Rogen or the Dariens."

Famhart spurred the horse forward, and followed the
woman's pointing arm toward the entrance to the mounds
where Largo had disappeared.

"How has Largo managed to escape the Rogen?" he
/ asked, as they were dismounting. "He is not a child of
Trew."

"He has the amulet of the dragon. He was a servant of the
Dark One. It was one of the old tales. It was said that one
day a man would come from beyond Trew, who would not
be devoured by the keepers, and that he would be the
Redeemer. The Lord Trew had been gone for so long,
everyone wanted to believe it, for we have been trapped here
- all this time since Trew disappeared. He had set all the
' destructive watchers into motion, then left us at their mercy
^ when he was gone. It seemed a natural thing at first when
^ Largo showed up and was not destroyed by the Rogen. I

370 WINDAMEIR-S DREAM

think that was what enabled him to gain such a hold over
my countrymen."

"Well, so much for the poor soul. and all the misery he
has caused you and yours. His fate seems to have been to be
the root of everything painful and evil, and to bring ruin
down about everything and everyone he touches."

"Leave him for the others," argued the woman. "Soon
it'll be light, and the mounds are full of the Dariens.'They
don't take well to those who invade their chambers."

"I can't leave it to chance* If Linne is to be freed, then
finding Largo is a part of that freedom. She would never rest
easy if we were to pull her back from that hellish place
where she is trapped, only to tell her that her brother who
did the deed has not been caught and dealt with."

Elita saw that it would do no good to argue further with
the determined Famhart. "If we must go in, then at least let
us wait for some of the dreamers' It would be foolish to try
to go alone. The ways are treacherous, and even I don't
know all the secrets of the mounds."

"The Etboreal can follow along when they can. I will try
to mark our way, so that they can come after us."

Famhart had handed down the woman, and dismounted
after her. He checked his weapon, and took a small shield
off the hom of the saddle, slinging it over his back.

"I wish I had a crossbow, but it might be of no use in
these shafts! It shall come down to blows at last, and it is
always the steady hand with the longsword that lasts in the
end."

He turned to the stewards who were still lined up along
the river, and raised a hand in salute to the fluttering white
banner that bore the Cross and Shield of the Line. They
returned his gesture, and kept their hands raised until he
and the woman of Trew had disappeared into the dark
mouth of the openings that led down into the secret vaults of
the Darien Mounds.

And below, far ahead of his father and Elita, Owen
Helwin watched as Ephinias stood at the edge of the well
that had brought him back from the shades of the spell he

Cross and Shield                    371

had been under, and that still held his mother fast in its
grim deathvise.

They had made good time back to the chamber where
Emerald had found Deros, and where he had administered
the water to Owen and Kegin. The shafts were still all eerily
quiet, except for the now distant sounds of battle, which
seemed to echo faintly from farther away each time they
came.

"I don't like the feel of this," said Emerald. "It is always
the silence which bites the hardest. If there were only a few
of them about, I'd feel better for it."

"There is no few of them," replied Ephinias. "These little
devils run in packs. You'll never find one without two dozen
more close at hand."

"It would still be easier to take than this," argued the
minstrel.

Deros was silent, standing very near Owen, her face
drawn with fear and tension. "It still smells like the sea from
my old home," she said quietly, trying to reassure herself.

"That's strange, child," said the older man, who was
peering intently into the depths of the well as he spoke. "It
does seem to have odd properties. We shall have no trouble
calling for Gillerman from here. I think this is one of the old
doorways that are spoken of in the lorebooks we grew up
on."

"Doorways?" questioned Emerald. "How could that be?"
"You always wanted to know the most difficult things,"
Ephinias laughed. "It would take too long to explain all the
ways of it to you, my young jacksnipe, but it is easy to
understand if you think of all these planes here in the Lower
Meadows as being full of shafts, just like the tunnels we're
in here in the mounds. Room connections, if you wilt! Lead-
ing from one part of your house to another, only some of
them concealed so that you could move back and forth
without someone always seeing you."

Ephinias had drawn breath to continue on with his lecture
to his old student, when a slight movement out of the corner
of his eyes caught his attention, and he turned to the
archway that marked the entry of the hall to the Well of

372 WINDAMEIR-S DREAM

Trona. There outlined in the dim light was the vague silhou-
ette of a bear, dressed in full battle garb-

"If you stand aside, and swear your service to Bern the
Red, you will be allowed to live," boomed his voice, power-
ful and frightening, and he held aloft a black sword that
glowed a pale deathly green-

Ephinias held out a hand to hold Emerald back, and stood
before his small group in a protective way.         ,

"I think we shall swear no service to Bern," replied
Ephinias coldly, his voice matching the power of the bear.
"And I might say that if Bern the Red yielded to us, we
would grant him mercy and fair dealing!"

A low rumble of laughter echoed about the stone walls.

"You are even more foolish then you look, old one! Your
wits have deserted you before you've lost your hair! I surren-
der up the well? I am Bern the Red, and I will have it!"

He struck out with the sword, making a vicious sweeping
arc in the air before him. As he did so, another form behind
him seemed to pounce forward, a large, dark massive shape
that seemed to have no beginning or end, and it now fell on
the bear, who fought savagely to free himself.

"It's the drudge!" cried Emerald. "That's the thing that
had Owen and Kegin before!"

"It will give me time to call Gillerman," said Ephinias,
and he turned back toward the well to complete what he had
been doing when Bern interrupted.

"Watch out!" shouted Kegin.

"Deros! Duck!" Owen yelled.

As the drudge and Bern fought furiously about the cham-
ber floor, another figure had erupted into the room, sword
flashing, and made straight for Owen.

Largo's eyes were turned back in his head, and a shrill,
chilling cry came from his distorted lips. He was in range
then, and before Kegin or Emerald could intercede, he had
fallen wildly upon the overwhelmed youth, who was still
struggling to draw his longsword from its scabbard.

A pale blue light from the well had been glimmering
faintly before, illuminating the chamber, but it now flared
up into a darker intense blue that rose out of the water,

Cross and Shield                    373

growing into a band of blue-white stars that began to drift
upward toward the ceiling of the chamber, lighting the
scene until the drudge began to wail with pain. Bern had
taken that advantage to strike a blow or two at the unpro-
tected underpart of the hairy creature he was battling,
which drew a low groan as the thing eased off momentarily,
then collapsed unmoving, wheezing in a sad, oddly musical
way until there was silence at last from its vast shape.

Bern whirled again, this time seeing his opportunity to
fall on Ephinias, still deep in his repetitions of the runes
which would call Gillerman.

"Watch out!" cried Kegin. "Keep back!"

He leaped forward, but too late, for Bern had brought the
wicked black sword down with a stunning blow across
Ephinias's head, and the old man fell into a senseless heap at
the well's edge. Before Kegin could move further, the bear
whirled to engage him, and in turning so quickly, he tripped
over the fallen form that lay at his feet. He quickly side-
stepped and tried to regain his balance, but faltered once,
then caught his hindpaw against the stones that rimmed the
well, roared out in a dreadful voice that froze the hearts of
all there, and toppled over with a resounding splash into the
waiting Well of Trona.

Deros leaped up from where she had fallen behind Bern,
and moved quickly to Owen's side, where he clumsily tried
to keep the maddened Largo at bay. Kegin then joined in
the fray, and Emerald brought up the rear, while Aron knelt
beside the unconscious and bleeding Ephinias.

"Yield!" ordered Kegin. "Yield, or you die! We outnum-
ber you, friend. Don't drive us to slay you!"

"You cannot slay Argent Largo," he raved. "I have come
to avenge myself on my wretched sister! I shall slay her
husband and her son! She shall pay dearly for what she has
done to me!"

"You're mad," said Emerald. "They have done you no
harm."

"I am mad," echoed Largo. "I have my madness to
protect me, and the Protector to strike you all dead!"

As he spoke, he edged nearer Owen, who seemed mesmer-

374 WINDAMEIR-S DREAM

ized by the name of his mother's assailant. A slow fire had
begun to blaze up in his chest, and he gripped the sword in
his hand so tightly he thought he must surely feel the cold
steel cutting through the flesh of his palm.

With a ringing cry that echoed through.the chamber of
the well, Owen sprang forward. Their swords struck sparks,
and the air was filled with the metallic clamor of the blades
as they clashed against each other, jarring both Largo and
Owen to the bone, and numbing their arms. Deros had
screamed as the young man attacked, and it distracted
Owen just enough so that Largo was able to recover his
balance first, and struck another blow before Owen could
fully parry it.

A thin geyser of blood spurted from the wound in Owen's
forearm, which caused the girl to scream again, although
she was quickly hushed by Kegin.

Largo struck again, narrowly missing Owen's head, but
his blade cut the gray bag strapped to Owen's back, and
split the flask spilling the water from the Well of Trona.

Owen's face contorted into a mask of rage when he saw
this, and he whirled madly, slashing the air in front of Largo
with ineffective strokes that were spent before he was within
striking range.

Kegin shouted to him to close nearer with his opponent,
but the youth heard nothing. He was full of a blazing hatred
that blanked all else from his mind. All he could think of
was to smash the handsome, smirking face of his adversary,
and to hack him into small bits with the sword Gillerman
had given him.

For an instant, and it was an instant only, he thought of
the ancient man, and wondered why the sword hadn't
showed its usual light, or made any noise, or did any of the
other things that he had known it to do before. Then Largo
lunged forward, hacking and slashing in a powerful back-
hand stroke that hurled Owen's sword out of his numbed
hand, and sent it skittering wildly across the floor to land at
the well's edge.

Emerald engaged Largo then, deftly leading him away
from Owen, and placing himself between Largo and Owen,

Cross and Shield                    375

so the demented assailant could not get at the disarmed
youth, who was scrambling to retrieve his lost weapon. His
ears burned with shame, and he trembled as he bent to pick
up the sword.

"You've let him get to you," cautioned Kegin. "Keep your
mind on what you're about! Watch Emerald!"

The minstrel, although he was trained as an entertainer
and a poet, had been well versed in the handling of weapons,
and he easily held his own against Largo, who seemed to be
tiring, and slackening his attack.

Largo broke off the engagement with Emerald, and fell
back a few more steps, reaching his left hand into his short
jacket as he did so, and bringing out a tiny vial, which he
dashed to the cold stone floor at the feet of the minstrel.

"Run!" cried Kegin. "It's the flowers!"

"Don't breathe it!" shouted Owen.

Emerald fell back, covering his mouth and nose with the
tail of his cloak, and hurriedly crossed to the well and
scooped up a handful of the water to his mouth and drank.

The sweet, heavy smell of the flowers had slowly filled the
room, and Deros felt her eyes growing heavy, and her breath
coming in short spurts, until Owen sprinkled her lips with
some of the water from her flask, which brought her around,
although she felt woozy and unsteady on her feet.

"So you have found out the secret of the black sleep,"
' Largo said shrilly- "I have other spells you don't know of,
and can't guard against! See what you can do with this one!"

He had pulled another small box from his coat, emptied
its contents on the floor, and ground his boot through the
ashlike substance until a low guttural rattle came from the
crushed gray pile. A dim shape grew into view, wavering
and fading in and out hazily in the bright blue light that
emitted from the well.

A darker cloud rose from the ash next, and behind that
cover. Largo vanished into the doorway of the tunnel behind
him. By the time the minstrel had groped his way through
the thick gray smoke, there was no sign of him. The crazed
youth had called out for the Rogen, but they were busy at

376 WINDAMEIR'S DREAM

the riverbank with their own blood feast, and did not heed
the summons of the outsider,

Emerald searched both ways in the next tunnel for as far
as he dared, then hurried back to check on the condition of
his revered old instructor, Ephinias, who lay pale and
breathing shallowly in Aron's strong grasp.

"Is he alive?" he asked, his heart pounding with a slow,
leaden beat as he looked upon the drawn, pale features of his
old teacher.

"He lives," replied Aron, "but I don't know how! It's a
miracle that blow didn't cleave him from head to foot." He
nodded his head angrily. "If I only had my broadax, I'd
bring some mischief to that murderer."

Aron had lamented the loss of his broadax since Ephinias
had first changed their forms, and he had been forced to
leave his favorite weapon behind.

"You'll most likely have your chance yet," answered
Emerald wearily. "I know we haven't seen the last of Largo
yet."

"Not likely," said Kegin. "I have a feeling that he's not
gone far! There are too many strange things at work here!"

"Look! The bear is gone! He's disappeared."

Deros had leaned over the well, and peered intently into
its depths.

"That was good work, lass," said Kegin in an attempt to
be cheerful. "Your timing was perfect."

"It's the only thing I seem to be able to do well," replied
the girl. "Falling down appears to be my best defense."

"In this case, it was exactly what was called for."

"Put some of that water to his lips," suggested Emerald.
"Ephinias is a tough old goat. I've seen him weather a
graver blow than this."

The older man's eyes slowly opened, and he addressed his
student in his best authoritative voice. "There may have
been blows that were graver, but I don't recall any that were
less painful," he said. "And I know you may not think so
highly of me as I had hoped, but I thought you might refer
to me in more gentle terms than *old goat.*"

"Ephinias!" The minstrel laughed. "I knew it wasn't like

Cross and Shield                    377

you to get yourself killed in some out-of-the-way place like
this!"

"Not convenient, and I have so many things left to tend
to," the older man went on, and tried to sit. His head spun
wildly about, so he slowed down a bit, and eased himself up
more gingerly.

"Is the bear gone?" he asked, finally in an upright posi-
tion, with his back against the cool stones of the well.

"Gone. The well has taken him!" replied Aron.

Ephinias frowned. "I'm not so sure that bodes good for
any of us," he said. After a moment his features cleared,
and he seemed to remember something that made him
smile.

"At least the Red Bear has been dealt with here! We shall
see what it all means in due time, I'm sure. I never can
remember how it is all supposed to be, but I'm certain that
we'll know it all soon enough."

Kegin looked puzzled. "We won't have to wait long to
hear from Largo! Listen! I can hear him screeching out
there again."

Emerald and Owen leaped to their feet from where they
had knelt beside Ephinias, and raced away toward the
shouting, which seemed to come from the shaft behind the
Fourth Chamber, and at no great distance.

"Stay behind me, lad! He's full of those devilish tricks of
his. And don't attack until I say to!"

Owen nodded, concentrating on not getting ahead of
himself. His anger and inexperience had almost cost him his
life, so he vowed to remain calm, as he had seen Kegin do.
The lad tried to remember all he could recall of Kegin's
instructions on longsword handling, but his thoughts were
all cut short again when he and Emerald turned another
corner in the branching of the tunnels, and came face to face
with Famhart and Elita.




Fathers and Sons

"Father!" cried Owen. Forgetting himself, he flung himself
on Famhart, his heart bursting. It was hard to hold back the
tears, but then Owen saw his father's eyes were wet too, so
he stopped trying to hold back the flow.

Elita embraced him as well, and Emerald waited until the
two, father and son, had had their greetings, and he
extended a warm hug to the elder of the stewards.

"Well met, minstrel! I remember your amusing tales from
a campfire long ago, on a long and weary patrol. You were
with an older fellow then, but his name slips by me."

Famhart stood still embracing his son, although he had
noticed that the lad had changed, and was no longer the
mere boy he had been when he left him behind to seek help
for Linne.

"Ephinias! He's here, but wounded. We just this moment
came out to find Largo! We had him a moment ago, but he
escaped."

Famhart's eyes clouded in a mixture of rage and pain.

"It shall end here, one way or other," he vowed, then
turned to Owen. "But how came you here, lad? I left you to
tend your mother! What of Kegen and Darek?"

The questions tumbled out one after another, and Owen
blushed and fell silent, suddenly losing his voice.

Emerald laughed. "It is a long and complex story, sir, and
one that will take some time in telling. The young sprout
here had little to do with going against your orders, and he

378

Fathers and Sons                   379

also has a way to redeem your faith in him, by having about
him the answer to your problem. The key to the spell that
has laid your wife low is in our grasp, and we can have her
back and fine again as quickly as we can reach her side."

Famhart listened, elated, his features growing younger as
the deep furrows of concern melted away from his forehead.

"All that remains here then is that we find our man, and
try to repair what we can that has been the wreck of the
Line."

"Darek is a girl," blurted Owen, realizing as he said it
that it all came out wrong. "I mean, we thought Darek was
a boy, but he was a girl all along. Her name is Deros."

Famhart's face was blank.

"The lad doesn't carry a tune very well," said Emerald. "I
shall have to coach him a bit on spinning yarns. He has no
sense of timing or suspense."

"There seems to be an abundance of suspense here in
Trew," remarked Famhart, beginning to tire, and aching
from his fall from the stricken horse at the river.

"The Dariens have been busy with two invaders tonight,"
said Elita, taking his hand again. "And the Dariens are
clever and tenacious. They fear only the Rogen. and let
them alone, for they know they aren't pure children of Trew.
We must find a way to the heart of Rogen Keep, to still that
spell that the Lord Trew stirred up when he closed the
borders of our country."

"Can we do that?" asked Famhart. "I don't think I've
come across anything quite like them since the Middle
Islands. It smacks of the Dark One."

"The Lord Trew fought on the side of Windameir, but he
began to lose his sense of things as he grew older. His
daughter married an outlander, and left him alone in his old
age. I don't think he ever got over that blow. It did some-
thing to his mind."

"Maybe that's what happened to Largo," said Emerald.
"From all I've heard, it sounds as though he were weak in a
way that would be easy for the Dark One to snare him."

"Linne was the strong one of the family," agreed
Famhart. "That threatened Largo, and I don't think he has




380 WINDAMEIR-S DREAM

ever forgiven his sister for her courage, for he never had any.
It was as though the Great One mistakenly put the wrong
souls in the opposite bodies."

"Like Deros," stammered Owen. "She said her brother
was gone, so she had to learn all the warrior's ways, and to
try to bring help to her father! She's an awful lot like my
mother, and all the stories you've told me of when you and
she were on the campaigns in the Middle Islands." '

Famhart laughed, and slapped his son on the back.

"I must meet this Deros, or Darek, whoever she is now. It
sounds as though she has won your heart."

This made Owen blush the more, and he looked away to
cover his embarrassment, turning Just as the fading figure of
Largo disappeared from his view into the chamber they had
just left, where Deros and Aron and Kegin were tending the
wounded Ephinias.

"It's Largo!" shot Owen, and dashed for the door after
the vanished figure.

"Wait!" shouted Emerald. "Don't engage him!"

Famhart was ahead of the minstrel in a flash, with Elita
at his heels, the tail of her silver gown floating out behind
her like a fleeing ghost in a high wind.

Deros had looked up just as Largo entered, his sword
brandished, and she leaped to Kegin's side, picking up the
crossbow that was armed and lying at his feet. Kegin
crossed the floor quickly, and engaged the ranting youth,
who rolled his eyes back in his head until the whites showed
clearly, and there were white flecks at his lips, and blood,
where he had bitten his tongue through.

"Yield, Largo," coaxed Kegin. "There is no point to going
on with this!"

Largo answered with a vicious blow at Kegin, who parried
it, and stepped away.

"You need a healer. Largo! Look at you! We can find you
a healer in the stewards' camp. We can take care of you."

"Like you take care of all the others who oppose you,"
snarled Largo. "I've heard how my precious sister and her
pure-blooded Famhart treat those they distrust or dislike, or

Fathers and Sons                   381

fear! No one can fool Largo! He knows how the ground truly
lies!"

He circled Kegin, picking his time carefully, then lashed
out again, causing the swords to ring out loudly, echoing
again from the chambers that opened off the one they were
in.

Largo attacked again suddenly, and as he did so, his hand
flashed into his cloak so quickly that Kegin never saw it. The
hand with the throwing dirk snapped back out like a snake
striking, burying the small steel blade to its hilt in Kegin's
shoulder.

He cried out and fell back against the stone wall, but he
never dropped his guard, and parried another swordstroke
by Largo, even as he felt himself weakening from his wound.

Largo prepared to finish his wounded opponent, when the
iron dart from the crossbow caught him in the forearm that
held the sword, and he fell back, screaming in pain. Deros
was struggling to draw back the heavy pull of the weapon
again, but without success. Largo saw his attacker clearly
then, his mind focused by the bright electric intensity of the
pain in his arm. He pulled an ugly, carved dagger from
under his vest, and threw himself at the frantic girl, screech-
ing in his maddened rage.

A bat came from nowhere, and dug its clawed talons into
Largo's back, and the vile, ugly mouth with the rows of tiny
sharp teeth clamped onto his shoulder right where it met his
neck. Largo screamed again, and struck frantically at the
soft furred body that he could not quite reach, giving Deros
time to escape. She ran straight into the arms of Owen
Helwin as he entered the chamber, fearing the worst.

"Owen," she cried. "Kegin is hurt! Largo is mad!"

She burst into tears and was unable to go on. A moment
later, Famhart and Emerald were there, and she felt their
strong arms around her.

"Easy, lass! It's going to be all right."

"Come on, son," said Famhart. "This is our score to
settle."

Owen nodded, although he felt sick to his stomach to see
Largo writhing against the wall, still trying to rid himself of

382 WINDAMEIR'S DREAM

the black demon that had attached itself to his neck. He
screamed and twisted, but to no avail, for the bat clung to
him tenaciously.

"Help me!" cried Largo, seeing Famhart and Owen com-
ing across the chamber toward him. "Get this filthy thing
from me! It's bitten me! It's bitten me!"

Almost as quickly as the bat appeared, it was gone, and
Ephinias was back in his old place, propped up beside the
well. Largo slapped twice more at his back, then laughed,
his eyes wild and his mouth trickling blood from his man-
gled tongue.

"You had your chance to help poor Largo and make him
into a good boy, but you missed it! Now he's going to be bad,
and hurt you all! No one loves Largo. His sister hates him,
and made his father hate him, too! His bad sister will pay,
for she's going to sleep for a long time with the black sleep."

Largo had begun to back away from the two who neared
him, his eyes bright with pain and madness, darting about
for any weapon or avenue of escape. He did not see the
woman behind him, nor did he have a chance to turn before
she touched him with her outstretched hand that held the
small vial of dark blue water from the well. He cringed
backward when he saw who it was, but his eyes were already
closing, and his tormented consciousness was being covered
by a soft blue-black blanket of night, full of stars and a pale
moon, and then there was nothing more.

"What was that, Elita? What did you do?" asked Emer-
ald, as they all crowded around the quiet form of the lunatic
that had raged before them but a moment before.

"It is the Tears of Trona," replied the woman. "If it is
given by someone with no evil thoughts, it can work cures on
even the most malignant souls."

"Will it help Kegin?" asked Deros, kneeling beside the
injured man, who still had the throwing dirk embedded in
his shoulder.

"Quick, lad! Let's get this out," said Famhart. "I hate to
see an old comrade used for a pincushion like this."

Kegin smiled weakly at his commander.

"At least you can't dress me down for being out of pocket

fathers and Sons                   383

from where you left me," he managed. "I was in the clear,
too, for Owen and I had the good luck to come upon what
will save Linne from her trouble!"

He paused, looking at Deros.

"Then we found out everything wasn't exactly like we
thought, which confused us all a good bit. Thank the Stars
of Rionde that she turned out to be clumsy of foot, and a
passing shot with a crossbow, or old Kegin would be pushing
up clover by now."

Deros was wiping away tears from her eyes, looking
helplessly on as Famhart tried to ease the throwing dirk out
of Kegin's shoulder.

"That hurts, friend! I think it may be pinned to the bone.
You'll have to put your foot on my chest to get it."

Famhart nodded, and wrapped his cloak about the blade
handle so he could get a good purchase of it, and put his
boot against the wounded man's chest, and gave a big heave.
Kegin cried out in pain, and his head drooped to his chest.

"He's out, poor devil! Quick, lad, we must clean this and
stanch the bleeding. If this was a poisoned balde, we don't
have a chance to save him, but if it was clean, then we're in
luck."

Deros wept more loudly, holding to Emerald.

"It's all right, lass! We'll clean it with the well water. It
was even enough to bring around Ephinias, and that in itself
is a feat that would make the properties of this water most
unusual indeed."

"Watch your tongue, whelp! I may be under the weather,
but I still have my ways of dealing with a saucy pup like
you."

Elita came to examine Kegin, and after looking at the
bloody wound on his shoulder, declared that it was not
poisoned.

"All the spells he learned here were from the Rogen, and
the old books that were the downfall of Trew. He had no
chance to treat the dirk with any of the poisons. And you
can always smell the old ways! It always carries the faint
smell of flowers,"




384 WINDAMEIR-S DREAM

"What of Largo! How long will he remain like that?"
asked Famhart.

"Until I free him, or until he is called back by someone,"
replied Elita. "The dreamers could carry him back with
them when they go, and he would be freed from the Dark
One, The mark of the dragon is on him still. Look!"

Elita pointed to the amulet that he still wore about his
neck, and she reached out to take it from him.

A clap of thunder resounded through the chamber, and
the smell of scorched earth and flesh burned their nostrils,
and Largo sat bolt upright, his eyes flat and lifeless, but
gazing at each of them there with such a terrible emptiness
that their hearts stood still for a moment as they looked
upon the dreadful sight. One of his hands snaked out with a
speed that escaped the eye, and wrapped itself grimly
around Elita's neck with such a force that her face turned
blue, and her eyes began to bulge from her head.

"The Protector has yet another dance to do, and another
act to play before the curtain falls. You, my pet, will not
escape now, and even the dreamers will have no luck
returning you from the dead this time!"

Largo's head flew back and he cackled with a tinny laugh,
squeezing the hand around the woman's neck tighter and
tighter still. The amulet had begun to glow a dirty orange,
and emitted a foul gray cloud that began to fill the close
chamber with the ominous presence of the soul of the
dragon.

Emerald was in action in a flash. His sword flashed once,
and Largo's arm was lopped clean from his shoulder at a
blow, but the arm still remained attached to the hand, and
that hand had become a claw at Elita's throat. She had lost
consciousness, and her tongue protruded from her mouth
now, and she had begun to grow a dark, bruised bluish
purple about her mouth.

"Quickly! Someone help me here," cried the minstrel, and
he tried to pry off the hand from its iron grip at Elita's
throat. He could not budge the dreadful claw, and as the
gray cloud had choked him, he felt his strength began to
falter.

Fathers and Sons                   585

Deros and Owen were at his side then, and Owen held the
sword from the forges of Skye poised to strike, but he
hesitated as to where to place his blow. Largo had raised
himself on his remaining arm, and with his bloody stump at
his shoulder spurting blood, he propelled himself toward the
woman from Trew, and reached out to pull his severed arm
back to his body.

Deros reached into her bodice, and pulled out the small
knife Stearborn had given her at the fire when she was not
long in Sweet, Rock, at the beginning of her journey with
Owen and Kegin. She began to pry at the convulsed hand
that strangled Elita, while Owen waited, still unsure as to
what next to do.

"Strike, lad!" ordered Famhart.

"The sword!" cried Ephinias. "It is from Skye! It will put
the light into that dark heart!"

Largo turned at that instant, and looked directly into
Owen's eyes, his face a convulsed mask of rage.

*Turn away, coward! None of you can harm Largo! I
shall strangle this wretched woman, and I shall come for the
rest of you. Nothing can stop the chosen one of the
Protector!"

A dangerous green fire had burned slowly through the
dead gray of Largo's eyes, and it now flashed in a sickening
pale halo of light above the maimed man's head.

"Strike, lad!" shouted his father. "It is your only chance
to free your mother!"

Owen's hand seemed to be held fast by Largo's stare, and
will it as he might, he could not get it to follow his own
command.

"Please, Owen," begged Deros, who had tried desperately
to pull the hand away from Elita's throat, but all to no avail,
for the woman had lapsed into unconsciousness and was no
longer breathing or struggling against her attacker.

Owen tried very hard to remember how to contact Giller-
man. A part of his mind that was not controlled by the
forceful will behind Largo's eyes, focused on the older man,
and his wonderful talking horse, when he had first come to
the sleepy settlement of Sweet Rock. so long ago now that it

386 WINDAMEIR-S DREAM

seemed to be another lifetime. He struggled to remember
the horse's name, and cried it out aloud when he did.

"Gitel! It was Gitel and Seravan!"

And the thin line that had held him back from Gillerman
broke, and the sword erupted into a blue-white flame that
cleared his mind of the Dark One's will, for it was no longer
Largo's. The blade shot forward with a strength behind it
that was not his own, and ran itself through the mail'shirt
and pierced the body of Largo cleanly. A great wail went up
in the chamber, and the cold breath of a winter storm raged
about the companions for a time, and then with a sigh, all
was gone, and the body slumped forward, still impaled by
the sword from Skye. The severed hand that had been
wrapped about Elita's throat fell away as well, releasing the
woman from its deathgrip.

"Is she breathing?" asked Emerald, at her side at once.

Ephinias held her head up, and Deros poured out a few
drops of the Well of Trona onto the still, blue lips. Owen's
heart hammered inside him like a wild drumbeat, while his
father crossed to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

The eyes of the slain Largo were calmer, and looked
confused, but the facial features had relaxed from the horri-
ble contortions that had been the cruel mask that frightened
Owen-

"He's at rest now, son. The Dark One had kept his soul
captive, and brought the poor devil back to attack all those
who had helped defeat her at the Middle Islands."

"The sword," muttered Owen- "I couldn't strike! It was
the sword that did it! I tried to think of Gillerman."

"Then that is what has freed Largo. The Light set him
free from the bonds he was held by. The Dark One cannot
face that."

Owen turned away, trying to quiet all the raging thoughts
that had come to him as he faced Largo.

"Will my mother be here soon?" he asked, trying to think
of something other than the elation he felt at killing, fol-
lowed by the deep remorse that would not let him look again
at Largo's body.

Fathers and Sons                   387

"Elita has said as much. The dreamers have her now. All
we need do is get topside."

"She's coming around," said Emerald in a hushed voice.
"Praise the Sacred Harp!"

"1 believe she's going to be all right," concluded Ephinias.
"The Tears of Trona is a powerful medicine to those in
need."

Elita's eyes opened, fluttering, and she did not register at
first at who she was looking. Emerald was the first one she
saw, and a strange connection was completed between the
two, and she laid her head on his chest and wept until all the
fear and horror was gone, and a quiet serenity had come to
take its place.

"You have had a near thing, my lady," said Emerald, his
eyes gone a darker shade of blue.

"This will be worth a song or two, or I'll miss my mark,"
Kegin chuckled, shaking his head. "It never takes much to
get him going with that music box of his, and we'll never
hear this one out."

Owen was relieved to hear Kegin joking, although his
friend was stiff from the pain in his shoulder.

"Can we think of trying to find an exit from this bugs*
roost?" asked Aron, looking from one to another, tapping
his foot nervously. "We're still' not free of these little
blighters that run these dingy shafts, and I've had all the
excitement I can use for now. If 1 have to die, at least let it
be beneath a clear blue sky, with a breath of wind to blow
my soul away. I don't want to be trapped like a rat in a dark
hole like this!"

Owen looked at his father.

"Do you think that happened to Largo?"

Famhart gave his son a hug and shook his head.

"I don't think that happened, Owen. You have to remem-
ber that sometimes we are used in ways we may not under-
stand, but it is still the way of the Law. It takes a very long
time to begin to see all these unpleasant things with an
untroubled heart."

"Were you sad yet feeling a great power all at once when
you killed?"

588 WINDAMEIR'S DREAM

"The best and worst of it," replied Famhart. "It came
very slowly to me that if I was to continue on as steward,
and not to become an outcast or bandit, I would have to be
merely a channel for the Law of Windameir. It is the only
way I managed to survive that crossroad unscathed."

Deros put her hand on Owen's shoulder.

"You slew Largo, but you saved Elita," she reminded
him. "That must make a difference."

Owen nodded, feeling very close to tears, and a warm
sensation around his heart responded to the touch of her
hand.

Ephinias interrupted his thoughts then, pointing upward.
"It's time we are gone," he reminded them.

Elita had recovered her strength enough to stand, and she
whispered, for her throat still hurt from Largo's attack.

"There is a straight way from the well chamber to the old
throne room of Trew. Lord Trew had it done in the final
days of his madness. He had drunk of the well and couldn't
die as a mortal, so he had tried to find a way out elsewhere. I
think he was finally taken by the well."

"Like Bern?" asked Deros.

"Yes."

"Where have they gone?"

"No one seems to know exactly," answered the woman,
her voice low and husky. "Yet they will find themselves upon
the world again somewhere, to finish their lessons."

"I hope they won't be anywhere near wherever we are,"
snapped Kegin. "I've had all I want of this business."

There was a faraway sound of rocks being pounded
together, making sharp clicking noises that echoed dully in
the well chamber.

"We must go quickly," said Elita, her beautiful face
grown anxious. "The Dariens are returning."

"Lead on, my lady," said Emerald. "Are you strong
enough?"

"1 have to be," she replied, and hurried to a sunken niche
in the stone wall near the well. She touched a small dent in
the gray rock with a short tapping movement. As the sur-


Fathers and Sms                  389

prised companions looked on, an entire wall slowly revolved,
revealing a wide, well-lit shaft on the other side.

"This is how Famhart and I were able to reach you. We
heard the sounds of your voices, but the other tunnels were
so confusing, the only sure way I knew to reach here quickly
was Lord Trew's escape hole."

"We'll make good use of it then, and bless his heart,"
snorted Aron. "But let's don't dawdle!"

As quickly as they were all in the new shaft, Elita touched
another spot on the stone, and the entryway was sealed off.

"Won't it be wrong to leave the Dariens with the well?"
asked Kegin. "They might use it for no good!"

'They can't misuse the well," replied Elita, "It is impossi-
ble to do anything with it. They have lived here for all this
time, and they are still the sad little people they have always
been."

"I guess you have a point, at that," conceded Kegin,
nursing his hurt arm, which he carried in a sling he had
made for himself out of a spare bowstring.

The shaft began an abrupt climb soon after they entered
it, and within a few paces they were at the foot of a long
stairway that had been hewn out of the solid rock. As they
neared the top, there were odd markings on both walls, and
strange numbers and figures which ran on for as far as the
friends could see.

Emerald walked beside Elita, concerned that her brush
with death might have left her weakened, but she never
faltered in the journey, although she did, from time to time,
reach out a hand to steady herself on the minstrel's arm.
Ephinias noticed these occurrences when they happened,
but he said not a word, and busied himself instead with the
conversations he was having with Owen and Deros.

"Gillerman can be most aggravating," he was saying.
"He's always one to be forever going on about some detail or
other, but if he's with that friend of his, Wallach, there's no
telling what the two of them will be up to! I've had tales of
the two of them that make me look tame by comparison, and
I don't mind telling you, I don't think of myself as a tame
fellow."

390 WiNDAMEIR'S DREAM

"He's not," confirmed Emerald, grinning. "You can count
on it."

"I'll stand by that." agreed Aron. "I thought I had seen
my last days on two legs when Master Reckless here decides
to give us a go at being rats! Of all things! Can you imagine
my horror to find out that 1 was this horrid thing with dark
gray fur and red little eyes that would burn a hole right
through you, and a bent snout to boot!"

"You made an excellent case of it," soothed Ephinias.
"You really were a quite handsome rat."

"Ugh," complained Deros. "Can we talk of something
else until we can get out of this shaft? All this talk of rats
and Dariens has made me think of that beastly little elder! I
still can't get his eyes out of my memory. He looked as
though he could see right through me!"

"We're almost there," said Elita. "There's the entry to the
throne room at the top of the stairs."

As the woman from Trew was pointing it out to the
others, the stone that hid the concealed doorway slid slowly
and silently back, revealing a soft golden white glow that
flowed into the darker shadows of the shaft. A ballooning
ray of hope sprang from their hearts as they saw the elfin
host emerge from the archway of the Darien Mounds that
led to the world above ground.

The Shadows Lighten

Erases and the Lady Elina led the cortege, accompanied by
a guard of honor, all dressed in shining silver mithra armor.
Behind them came the pipes and, although they were not
visible to the companions in the secret shaft of Lord Trew,

The Shadows Lighten

there were many others behind, in a line that wound to the
river like a shining silver ribbon.

Camrile, who had taken the mortally injured girl from the
river, was there, and he held out his arms to her, his face
forever young, yet with the deep blue-gray eyes with the
unbearable sadness of all the race of dreamers, the children
of the dawn.

"You have done well, my child," he said, after the two
parties had exchanged their greetings, and after the com-
panions were over their shock at meeting the Elboreal in
such an unexpected fashion. The elf turned to Famhart, and
touched him gently on the arm.

"We have brought the Lady Linne," he said quietly. "We
await you."

Famhart's eyes were glistening with tears, but he held
himself erect and went forward, pulling Owen along beside
him.

"I'm ready."

"There is a chance that we may be able to do no more
than free her from the black sleep, citizen. I don't know if
we can bring her back to this vale of life."

The elder of the stewards shook his head. "If that be the
case, then I would like to crossover with her. I couldn't bear
to stay behind without her."

Camrile looked at Owen. "What say you to that, lad?"

Owen's voice was uncontrollable, so he merely nodded,
wiping away the tears with the back of his hand. Deros was
there, and she handed him the same quiver cloth to keep
arrows from the wet, and he took it automatically.

^^Owen is past his trial now. He has moved from a child
into manhood. He has known the sting of defeat, and the
horror of taking life, and the beauty of being in harmony
with the Law. There is nothing left that I should be able to
give him."

"You could chose to go too, Owen," said Erases. "That
would be allowed."

As the elf spoke the words, Deros grasped Owen's hand so
hard it brought him back to ha senses, and away from the
maudlin self-pity he had been entertaining-

392 WINDAMEIR'S DREAM

He shook his head again.

"Then let us prepare ourselves, and see to it that we shall
be ready when the sun rises. It will be the best time to free
her, whatever the outcome shall be."

The Lady Elina came and walked between Famhart and
Owen, and Camrile escorted Elita. Erases brought up the
rear with Deros on his arm, flanked by Kegin and Aron and
Ephinias, who was quite excited by all the splendor,'and
who engaged in a lively conversation with Erases as they
went. At the river, the battle skiffs of the elves were drawn
up to the shore, and the dead and wounded of the Elboreal
host had all been tended to, or brought aboard for their final
journey back to their homeland above the moon and stars. A
line of the honor guard stood beside a platform that was
covered with flowers, which filled the air with an eternal
spring, for the blooms had come from where the dreamers
stayed for as long as they were bound to Atlanton Earth. On
the platform was a silver mithra bed, with four posts that
had gleaming balls at the top, all shaped in the likeness of
the nine-petaled Flower of Windameir, and on the bed was
Linne, pale and distant, but dressed in radiant blue and
gold, which made her seem all the more drawn and
colorless.

Owen then noticed the other stewards there, from all the
other squadrons that he had heard about since he was a tiny
child. Stearborn, subdued and awkward-looking as the heat
of battle wore off him, and burdened with the sadness of the
losses he had suffered by the deaths of his young soldiers.
Port and Starboard were there, nodding and repeating their
grief, and Chellin Duchin stood supported by Hamlin and
Judge, with Jeremy carrying their commander's armor.

And suddenly, from behind the platform where Linne lay,
stepped Gilterman and Wallach, looking exactly as they had
that long ago night he had met them first in the settlement
hall at Sweet Rock.

The shock at seeing them was so sudden and overwhelm-
ing, that Owen burst into tears, then quickly fought to
control himself and looked even graver.

"Welcome, brave stewards! Welcome to you, clan of the

The Shadows Lighten

393

Evening Star," said Gillerman. "We have had some sadness
between us this day, but we shall rise above it, if we set our
shoulders to it. Much has been gained by our sacrifice, and
the Dark One is yet held at bay."

Wallach nodded to Owen. and the lad saw Seravan nudge
his master from behind, in his own fashion of saying hello.
So much flooded through Owen's mind that it was hard to
remember how it had all begun that night in the wood,
talking to the two steeds, who spoke of deeds and mysteries
that had grown ever deeper as time had worn on.

"Come," said Famhart, and he took his son's hand, and
they approached the raised elfin platform by the water. For
as far as their eyes could see, the banks of the river on the
South Channels side was scorched by the fires of battle, and
there were many graves' details picking their way among
the fallen of both sides. The smell was putrid and almost
gagged those there, but at the platform where Linne lay, the
'Elboreal blossoms filled the air with a fragrance that made
the heart think of spring, and better times to come.

"We tried to call you," managed Owen at last, when he
had drawn close to Gillerman.

"You did call me, lad. I heard you every time. The sword
you carry has never failed to reach me, no matter how far
away I was, or how busily engaged."

There was a sparkle in the old man's eyes, hidden down
beneath the sadness and the fatigue there. His face was the
same as Owen remembered, but like the elves, there was a
curtain of sorrow that covered their features, and left those
who saw them torn between laughter and tears.

From behind Gillerman, Owen heard the horse. Gitel,
speak his greeting, very dignified and formal.

Owen turned to his father, with that small item that
seemed to loom so large in the face of such dire circum-
stances. It was like the random thought of who would water
the flowbeds as one lay at death's door.

"You see! Gitel and Seravan speak as plainly as you or I!"

"I see, lad," replied his father. "Poor Bristlebeard won't
see it, for he has gone on to his rewards, I hear. He was a
man outgrown of his time."

394 WINDAMEIR-S DREAM

Chellin Duchin and his band stepped up to exchange
greetings with Famhart, and the brothers. Port and Star-
board did the same.

"1 knew we should have listened to our old mother," said
Port. "She always said we'd come to a bad end if we left
Trew."

"Almost did," echoed his brother. "The last louts in front
of us were gobbled by that bunch of meat-grinders the'Lord
Trew called the Rogen."

"It was a surprise for them, I'd say, to find they couldn't
lay their choppers on us," snorted Port, looking to his
brother for agreement.

"That's how we got to you so quickly," explained
Stearbom. "We were stuck across the river watching that
bunch from Rogen Keep devour everyone who made an
attempt at crossing. Then these two louts said they knew
how to dispatch them, and off they went, and no stopping
them."

"The Rogen couldn't touch a pure-born child of Trew,"
explained Starboard, "and my brother and I are Trew
through to our core."

"And then some," added Port, nodding.

"The key to releasing the Rogen was to turn over the cup
that Lord Trew kept in the old throne room of the keep. His
word was that for so long as that cup be empty and upon the
king's table, then for so long would the Rogen be needed to
protect the boundaries of Trew."

"The Well of Trona filled the cup with water from its
secret source," said the Lady Elina. "It was fetched by one
of the older clans, and given to the hands of these two to
deliver. They have done their job well."

"You mean the Rogen are gone?" asked Famhart.

"Gone," said Starboard simply. 'The hex has been
removed, and those poor lost souls have been released from
that dreadful duty. There is no more danger to crossing into
Trew now than there used to be in the older, better days."

"Better days," echoed Port. "Trew was a proud beauty
then, just like our sister Elita."

The woman blushed deeply.

The Shadows Lighten

395

"I am only here because of Camrile and the dreamers,"
she said shyly. "If they had not pulled me from the river, I
would have perished at the unfortunate Largo's hand."

"Even he is better off," said Camrile.'his smile playing
across his clear features like a wind across a still pond in
summer. "The clans of the dreamers shall carry him back
with us when we go, and he shall not have to return again."

"Come along," said Erases. "We must see to Linne. We
have kept her waiting with our lengthy gabbing long
enough."

Owen's heart began to hammer, and he thought he would
not be able to walk, for his knees seemed to have gone to
water. Deros handed him her flask, and had to thrust it at
him twice more to get his attention.

"It's the water from the well," she whispered to him.
"They may need it."

Owen nodded blankly, and took the small leather-covered
flask, holding it tightly to his chest.

"You and Famhart come and stand on either side,"
instructed the elfin queen. "She will be guided by your
thoughts, and perhaps she will be able to see your auras
when she is released from the darkness. If that is not to be, I
will go myself, and will find her, and take her to a safe place
in one of the other havens on the other side of the Boundary.
You must not grieve if that is to be, for she will be safe, and
all will go on as before."

"But we won't see her," protested Owen, feeling a great
. wave of grief overtaking him as he looked at the still, forlorn
figure of his mother, so cold and lifeless, and her beauty so
distant and forgotten-

"Not as you know her, or have known her," answered the
Lady Elina. "You must not try to pull her back if we are to
go on. That would be very cruel to your mother. If you see
that she will not return here, you must make your peace
quickly, and let her know all that you would have her
understand, then release her to the Light. It is Windameir's
Dream that we all go home to, and it is to be looked forward
to, not dreaded."

"Windameir's Dream is what we have all been searching

396 WINDAMEIR'S DREAM

for so long, lad,'* Erases went on. "It is the one true beacon
that lights our way. These other lives are but small stops
along the way. We play one role, then another, until we
know enough to let go and go on."

"Even Largo and Bern? Have we been like them?" asked
Deros.

"Worse, my lass. We have done it all, and that is the one
way we learn it."

Erases had drawn back a veil that covered Linne's face as
he spoke, and Elina stood beside him, holding a tiny um that
seemed to glow a dozen shades of golden shadows. She held
it out to Owen, and instructed him to fill up the small
container with the water from the well that he carried in the
flask.

A sudden thought flashed through Owen's mind that it
might not work, and his hands trembled as he began to pour,
causing him to spill a few precious drops on the floor of the
platform where Linne lay as though in state for her friends
and family to come to mourn her.

Elina turned to Erases with the urn, and Camrile joined
the other two, and together they knelt beside the soft bed of
fragrant flowers where Linne lay, and bowed their heads as
one. A high, thin reed pipe began to play a lilting, haunting
tune, and there were changes then that happened to the
faint, fragile peach-colored light that painted the underside
of heaven near the horizon where the new day was in the
process of being born. Bright shades of a golden white light
began to glow from the urn, and as Erases touched the water
to Linne's cold lips, a faint tremor passed over her, as
though an echo of life had passed through some memory
that lay locked within the deep bleakness of the prison that
held her captive.

"She moved," said Owen excitedly, hardly daring to let
himself hope.

"We're not through the wall yet," cautioned Erases- "This
is as deep as I've ever seen the Dark One's hold. Even the
edges of her dreams are frozen."

The elf placed more of the water to Linne's lips, and

The Shadows Lighten

397

again, a faint tremor, barely noticeable, rippled over the
platform* stirring the stricken woman's eyelids.

Famhart knelt at the side of the bier, and clasped Linne's
hand tightly, his face screwed into a mask of anxiety. Owen
watched his father, and saw him go from old to young, and
back to old again as he waited for Erases and the Lady Elina
to complete their ritual.

A slight tinge of color, like the first blush of spring after a
long winter, touched Linne's cheek, and Famhart felt the
hand he held warm to his touch-

The elfin queen placed a small flower on Linne's bodice,
and the petals seemed to grow more luminous as she spoke,
and a wind sprang up from the south, which smelled of the
sea and ancient tides, and all the deep secrets that were
tossed about in the dim regions of the great ocean's heart.

Owen found the nerve to reach out and touch his mother's
hand, which seemed to make a feeble attempt to return his
grasp.

"I think she can hear us," said Erases. "There is some-
thing getting through to her."

"Speak to her, Famhart," instructed Camrile. "Some-
times it takes only an old, familiar voice to draw them
back."

Famhart leaned closer to his wife, and whispered some-
thing in her ear that the others couldn't hear, but which had
a startling effect on the motionless figure of Linne.

Her lips began to tremble, and a low moan burst forth,
followed by a slight trickle of tears that started from her
eyes. After another small sob, the dam burst, and Linne
wept as though all sadness had been touched in the deepest
recesses of her heart. Her shoulders shook, and the long,
frantic sobs racked her weakened body until Owen could
stand it no more, falling to his knees at her side.

"You're safe, mother* We have Gillerman and Wallach
here. and all the rest. Father is here, along with the stew-
ards. You don't have to worry anymore! The dreamers are
with you, so you can't be lost again. We know the secret of
the spell, and you'll never have to worry about being trapped
there again."

398 WINDAMEIR-S DREAM

Linne wept bitterly, but her eyes did not open, and it
seemed to Owen that there was some great struggle going on
within her, as though she fought for her very life with the
soul of the Dark One. Once or twice, Famhart heard his
wife curse violently, which she never did, and it was as
though there were two powerful enemies going at the fray
with every weapon they had.

Owen clutched his sword tightly, and prayed that its
strength and light might help guide his mother through the
dark chambers that she was in, and to deliver her from
whatever enemy was attacking her there. It was very frus-
trating to have to sit helplessly by while she faced such
dangers, and in a place where he could not go to her aid in
any other way.

The elfin queen's face had hardened, and her eyes were
clamped tightly shut. She seemed to be confronting some
unseen power that wracked her body, and caused her to rock
back and forth on her feet as though she were in intense
pain. Camrile and Erases both stood with eyes closed too.
For the next few moments, Owen watched as all three of the
elders of the Elboreal faced the terrible might of the Dark
One's will, trying to free Linne from that frozen palace that
lay in the heart of terror and despair.

It was then that the grizzled and limping Chellin Duchin
stepped forward, taking something out of a worn leather
wallet that he had concealed in his cloak, and he placed a
small brown leaf on the silent form of Linne.

As the deadly unseen combat went on, the sun peeked
over the horizon at last, and a long golden ray of light came
sliding down the rolling hills behind the Rogen Keep,
spreading a warm glow to all it touched as it crept nearer
and nearer to the raised platform where Linne lay sur-
rounded by the flowers of the dreamers. Even the harsh
scorched land that lay burned and withered, seemed to take
on new life in the light of the brightening dawn. As they all
looked on amazed, the broad finger of light slipped through
the last of the early morning shadow, and fell across the
sobbing form of Linne, trembling on her bed of fragrant
blossoms.

The Shadows Lighten                399

With the sunrise, the powerful battle that raged within
the three elders of the elves seemed to abate, and after
another heartbeat or two. Erases opened his eyes, and bent
down to touch Linne's cold forehead with a kiss.

Owen at first thought his mother had departed, so calm
and still she lay, but her eyes opened then, and she seemed
to be staring at something far away and long ago, or at the
pearl-colored sky that had begun to lighten more into an
oyster blue, tinted with gold and pale green down along the
edges which topped the trees that were left standing in the
woods of the Edges of Trew.

After another pause, Linne turned to Famhart, and the
two clasped each other closely in a long embrace, weeping
until Stearborn coughed nervously, and said in a very shaky
voice, "Welcome back, Linne. We've all come a long road
since you smiled at us last."

"Has it been so long?" asked Linne, her voice faint.

"Long enough to do a fair piece of traveling, and to have
dealt with two of the worst villains that ever threatened the
stewards of the Line, or anyone else left down here below
the Boundaries," replied Stearborn.

He was stopped from going on by Famhart, who signaled
him with a glance to be quiet.

"Here is a drink for you, my lady," said Erases, offering
Linne a drink from a tiny crystal goblet that he held out to
her, filled with the water of the Tears of Trona. "You will
feel a small bit jumpy at first, so don't try to overdo any-
thing just yet. You've spent a long, nasty time in that
dreadful place, and you should just relax and enjoy your
freedom for a while."

"I don't remember anything very much," said Linne, her
brow furrowed- "It was so awful, because most of the time I
remembered that I was in a place I wasn't supposed to be.
That made me so angry, and so sad all at once, because I
couldn't remember where it was I belonged."

She paused then, and her eyes dimmed.

"But then there were times that I was very afraid, and
someone told me that I would never be free again."

Famhart took her in his arms and held her close.

400 WINDAMEIR-S DREAM

"It's all right now. You won't have to worry about it
again. The stewards and the Elboreal have ridded Trew and
the South Channels of the threat that has caused so much
grief and destruction among our clans."

Linne seemed to remember something then, and she
raised a worried face to her husband.

"I had a terrible dream about my brother. He was alive
again, and he tried to hurt me."

Owen met his father's gaze over Linne's shoulder, and he
shook his head very slightly, trying to signal his son not to
speak.

"It was a sad dream. I don't know why I thought of him
after all this time. I guess I must have been grieving for him
somehow."

"You don't have to grieve for him without hope, my dear.
The dreamers have said that they will carry him home.
Largo will never have to come back again to the
Wilderness."

"They also have offered you a choice of what to do, my
lady," said Camrile. "If you like, you may join us when we
depart the Lower Shandin."

Linne looked about her, and held out her arms to her son,
no longer the little boy he was when last she had seen him.

"Owen!" she cried, and took him into her arms, brushing
back the hair from his forehead, as she had done when he
came to her in the evenings after their meal, waiting for her
to read him a story of the exploits of the Line Stewards and
all their glorious history. "You've changed! You're all
grown!"

Owen blushed and made a feeble attempt at withdrawing
from her overlong hug.

"Will you go with the dreamers?" he asked at last, not
sure of what his reaction would be if she said yes.

"We would all go with them, if we were in our right
minds, and had a healthy outlook about having a few tomor-
rows to look forward to," grumbled Port. "But I don't hear
any offers for old Port to be going anywhere, with or without
these fine folk, so I guess I'm stuck in my same old rut, dug
and furnished."

The Shadows Lighten                401

Deros stepped up to Linne and bowed low, with tears
glistening on her cheeks.

**I hope you feel recovered, my lady. My name is not
Darck, as I told you when first we met. I am Deros, from a
country beyond the Sea of Silence. I have come seeking help
for my father, and I have hopes that you will spare your life,
and not make the crossing with the elves. I have much to
learn, and I feel I must learn it all from you."

Linne smiled weakly, and held out a hand to the girl.

**I had wondered at you, child! I knew there was some-
thing that I felt off-kilter when you came to us, but I had not
time to think on it much before I was struck down."

"Will you stay, mother?" persisted Owen. "We shall all
be able to help Deros if you do! Kegin can teach her her
arms, and Emerald can see to it that she attends to her
music."

"Old Ephinias can make sure she doesn't overlook any of
her finer education when it comes to his vast experience with
the animals and their nature," added the older man. "And I
think Gillerman and Wallach might add the weight of their
considerable experience, from time to time."

Ephinias looked through shaggy lowered eyebrows at his
nephew and his friend.

*To be sure." Gillerman laughed. "I think there shall be a
need of all our assistance before too long. The young lady
has come on a mission that I believe I am familiar with,
although it is difficult to say exactly when it will come to a
head."

"Hurrumph," muttered Wallach. "Not in my lifetime, I
hope. I should like to tend to my garden and fishing awhile,
before I have more to do with all this beastly affair down
here."

Seravan nudged his master roughly, pawing the earth as
he did so.

"You'll have your own good time trying to get us to come
back with you with a droll attitude like that. Gitel and I did
all the work this time, and here you two lugs sit enjoying all
the rewards as though you were the heroes."

402 WINDAMEIR'S DREAM

Gitel neighed in agreement. "Let's see how quickly they
can get themselves home if we decide not to budge."

"You two will do nothing of the sort," said Gillerman.
"I'm familiar enough with your sassy ways to know you
better than to believe you'd leave a young lady in distress,
when you know you would be of great service to her."

The older man stroked the horse's soft velvet nose lov-
ingly, in spite of the gruff tone of his voice.

Famhart had stood near Linne all the while, and spoke for
the first time as he watched his wife and son.

"There seems to be yet a further need for the stewards.
With Bern and Largo out of the way, there will be a time to
help this young lady with her trouble in her homeland. I
have no doubt that it is all stirred up by the awakening of
the Dark One. She does not lie in wait for long."

He paused, looking at Linne.

"Do you feel up to the task of preparing for another
campaign, Linne? It isn't exactly the life I promised you
when we moved to Sweet Rock, but those times seem far
away now. It's almost as though we were never in the
Middle Islands, and that all the time in between never
happened."

Linne nodded, her face beginning to gain more color as
she got up slowly and moved around, stretching her stiff
limbs.

"I told you then I didn't want to raise Owen in a world
that seemed intent on tearing itself apart, and I didn't
believe we should have turned him into another heir to the
stewards. I'm afraid I was rather silly then, and thinking too
much of my own childhood, and the grief I felt at having
been raised in a time of war and troubles."

Linne raised her eyes to her husband's.

"I know Largo was the weak one, and I often thought that
if he had been born a woman, he would not have had the
trouble he did. Our father always threw me up to him for
my courage, even though I was terrified, and he never
ceased to find a means to chastise my poor brother for his
lack of manliness."

The Shadows Lighten                403

Here Linne looked at the small figure of the young girl
from the distant land.

**1 saw the two of you with Kegin and thought it was a
repeat of all I had gone through. I didn't want to believe
that the danger to the Line was so great. In a way, being
struck down as I was by my brother was the best thing that
could have happened to me. It has finally opened my eyes to
the fact that I had lost him long before he died. I don't want
to lose you, Owen, to a foolish whim of a mother's heart.
You must stand for yourself, and follow your own dreams
now. Your father and I will do everything we can to help
you."

"Then you're staying?" asked Owen, his voice choked
with a wild runaway surge of emotions.

"If you'll have me, and if the kind. wonderful friends I
have among the dreamers will allow me."

Camrile bowed low to Linne, as did Erases. The Lady
Elina came and embraced Linne, calling her little sister, and
holding her closely for a long time, her eyes shining.

"There is always a place in the Upper Shandin for a
warrior as true as you," she said, holding her back at arm's
length. "We of the dreamers have long been used to the
strange mix of the beauty and horror that is a part of these
Lower Meadows- I think that must have been what
attracted us in the beginning. It is hard to reconcile these
things. I don't think we are released until we know all of the
heart of Darkness, as well as the secret of the Light."

**Then I shall have to stay a bit longer to try to reconcile
all these things in my heart I can't seem to accept," admit-
ted Linne. "I seem to be needed, as well,"

Her husband clasped her tightly to him. and Owen and
Deros quickly embraced her.

"We shall need a long season of the fall to rest, and a
winter to redo all our new settlements," said Famhart.
"Kegin can teach the youngsters their weaponry, and you
and I will entertain all our good old ruffians at feast days,
and try to recoup as best we can."

**A good long siege in front of a fireplace with plenty of

404 WINDAMEIR-S DREAM

onion soup will have you fixed up right as a hawk's eye in no
time," rumbled Stearborn-

Gillerman and Wallach then held up their hands, clap-
ping to get the attention of the others, and mounted the
fragrant bed from which Linne had arisen.

"Now that we're so cozy, I think I'd best announce the
news! There will be a feast this evening, in honorof us all, at
the old Rogen Keep! There will be plenty of cause for Trew
to celebrate her liberation from the Rogen, and from Largo,
and I think we shall all have a deal of stories to exchange,
and a list of our fallen to hold wake over. Let us prepare
them for their memorial, and to host our own feast to the
living."

Wallach nodded, his old eyes misty.

"It's a fitting thing. Like the bygone days. I seem to miss
them more, at times like these."

The great gathering of the dreamers and the stewards,
began to break up then, led by Famhart and Linne, who
came down from the raised platform to the noisy cheers of
all who were there. They waited for Port and Starboard and
the Lady Elita to lead them to the imposing-looking fortress
which, for as long as the Rogen had lived, had served as
their bloody feast hall. Chellin Duchin was helped along by
his young lieutenants, and Stearborn walked alongside
Ephinias and Aron, marveling at the destruction of the
battlesite across the river, and at the scorched land that bore
mute testimony to the brutal fighting that had taken place
there but the night before.

The elves brought up the rear, with their queen in the
vanguard, flanked by Erases and Camrile. They marched to
the haunting refrains of a single reed pipe, which played
dirges for all those lost, and seemed to weep at the very edge
of all sorrows. No one in that vast cortege had dry eyes.

Gitel and Seravan had fallen in behind Owen and Deros,
and talked to the two young people as they walked. Their
singsong voices had made the girl laugh.

"We weren't supposed to let the secret out, but our two
lumps are going on a special errand, and they won't be
taking us," said Gitel.

The Shadows Lighten                405

"Couldn't," confirmed Seravan. "After all these turnings,
the two of them are finally going up to see how it's done on
the other side. I never thought it would come to this."

"Well, we're needed here." snorted Gitel. "These two will
have a need of a steady mount and a true friend, even if
someone else of our acquaintance doesn't."

"You mean you're going to stay with us?" asked Owen.
incredulous.

"I'm afraid that's the way of it," replied the horse, nod-
ding his handsome head.

Before Owen could react to this news. Starboard and
Chellin Duchin had blown the recall on their signal horns,
and all the rest of the stewards of the Line who yet lived
after the great battle began to muster in ordered rows along
the route of march the elfin procession was taking toward
the still imposing hulk of ruins that was Rogen Keep. On
shields and on their own mounts, the honored dead were
brought gently on toward their last rest, to lay in the gray
hills of Trew.

The Lady Elina sent out a small white dove from her
hand, and a rainbow-colored light trailed out behind the
small bird, as it flew high up into the new morning, circling
the grim walls of the old castle, spreading the reds and
greens and golds and blues over the fallen walls and turrets.
After a few more spirals, the company below was astounded
to see a broad green lawn appear before the broken gate,
dotted with shrubs and trees that were decorated with color-
ful tinsel and ribbons that reflected back the sunlight, and a
moment later, the gate was renewed once more to a golden
ivory-colored wood that gleamed in well-oiled splendor.
There was green ivy at the turrets then, and a fresh smell of
new-mown hay began to tickle the noses of horse and rider
alike. Behind Rogen Keep, a vast broad field was revealed,
with bright tents and pavilions, and great long wooden
tables covered with the finest feast the court of the Elboreal
could place before such honored guests.

The solo piper struck up a lively air then, and was joined
in that Joyous song by all the stewards and the elfin host.
Emerald, holding Elita's hand, joined in with a strong voice

406 WtNDAMEIR-S DREAM

that rang out clearly above the others, a pure tenor note
among the deep rumble of the stewards, and the bell-like
notes of the elves.

Next to the minstrel, Famhart and Linne smiled at each
other with an old secret, and held hands as they had done
when they were first together. Owen saw this, and very shyly
offered his hand to Deros, who blushed, but covered her own
discomfort by kissing him quickly on the cheek.

Behind them, Seravan and Gitel snorted and pawed the
smooth turf, and laying their ears back and tails up, they
pranced and raced about the green sward to the amusement
of all there, until all the company had found a place to sit or
stand. Gillerman and Wallach, flanked by the queen of the
Elboreal, raised their hands, and blew a short note to get the
attention of that vast throng.

The celebration of victory was ready to begin, and the
saying of their farewells to their lost comrades-in-arms. The
afternoon and evening and far into the night was spent in
tears and laughter and joy and grief, all mixed together
until in the end, only the sweet soft arms of sleep were left.
The winds of war and destruction had blown past and left
the survivors there with a strength they had not had before,
and a new hope born in their hearts that one day there
would be a time when it would not be necessary to raise
their weapons in anger, or to have to carry forth the sad
burdens of old friends left behind.

Owen and Deros sat long at table that night, full of the
wonder and sorrow there, and full of another wonder that
had happened somewhere when they were not looking—the
love they felt for each other had steadily grown into a bright
flame that promised to burn much more brightly in the
coming times.

When the last note was sung and the parting glass was
taken. Emerald had made them all weep again with that
haunting air. The companions all took their new oaths of
loyalty and service to each other, and bade the fair host of
the Elboreal a long, moving good-bye, with promises on both
sides that the parting would not be long.

And at long last, after the stewards had regrouped and

The Shadows Lighten                407

held their silent service for their fallen comrades, Famhart
and Linne began the Journey back to their old home in
Sweet Rock, where they planned to winter and recover from
all the many adventures they had been through. Seravan
and Gitel carried the young couple, Owen and Deros, filling
them with wonder as the two animals spun them yarns of all
their travels with Gillerman and Wallach. They had had a
quiet parting with their old masters and, although some-
what subdued and lonely but not wanting to admit it, they
settled in to their new duties with a passion that seemed
bound to make the errand their masters had sent them on as
pleasant a one as they could make it.

The coming spring would bring another tide, and beyond
was the Sea of Silence, already beckoning to the young
Lady Deros and her new champion.